Assassin's Creed III: Compromise
by Feael Silmarien
Summary: "How I know you? Well, there was that crossbreed in a funny hood running suicidally across the battlefield of Bunker Hill in order to kill Major John Pitcairn. Can I be blamed for my curiosity?" - An attempt to give Connor a proper sequel; includes killing and bone-breaking, a pursuit of truth and compromise and the story of how our virgin finally became ancestor.
1. The Last Mohawk

**Assassin's Creed III: Compromise**

Author: Feael Silmarien

Rating: T

Genre: Drama, Adventure, Romance

Disclaimer: Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft, and I don't earn money with this fan fiction.

Summary: 1784: The Revolutionary War didn't result in the outcome Connor had expected. In the new country he feels like an alien, betrayed and abandoned by those whom he trusted. And on top of that his fellow Assassins suddenly start to disappear. - A new Templar threat? Trying to uncover this mystery and save the Brotherhood he meets an unexpected ally who unfortunately happens to be a morality-denying killer with markedly bad manners. However, Connor is eager to believe that it's not only her obsession with his cheekbones which makes her remember her Assassin roots.

You can find this story and related art on my deviantART page (linked in my profile).

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Last Mohawk**

"Vat mean you he has not returned?" Wihelmina Zenger said with her heavy German accent.

"He did not contact me yet," Connor answered, trying to sound as sober as possible. The mountainlike wife of the Assassin Jacob Zenger was looking too weirdly at her frying pan.

"He has said he vould be avay a month," she said. "Now are it two. No letter, no note, nozing. You know also nozing. Vat has zis to mean? Vere is he?"

Connor didn't like the way she checked the frying pan's weight ... Poor Wihelmina with her puffy, red eyes!

"Normally, he would have sent me a note if any problems occurred," he tried to explain. "So something must have happened. I hoped you might have an idea."

"Vere. Is. My. Husband?" Wihelmina repeated, lowering her voice. "I have him for years not seen. Years! Understand you zis? And now is he disappeared. Because of your mission. I am ill for vorry!"

"I am sure we ... I will find him soon." Connor couldn't believe that the sight of kitchenware made him swallow. And yet, he understood Mrs. Zenger very well. In a way, it was her right.

"If not ..." Wihelmina's stare was piercing him, and she jittered. "Zen give it no missions more. Zen has Connor a big problem. Give me _meinen lieben Jacob_ back ... And until zen ... Dare. It. Not. To enter. My house. Again!"

Connor shut the door not a moment too soon, for something very heavy crushed against it on the other side right when he stepped out on the street. Then he heard sobbing inside.

He leaned against the wall for a few moments, regathering his thoughts. Nothing. Nothing again.

'Give me _meinen lieben Jacob_ back ...'

It couldn't be helped. He headed for the Aquila.

* * *

A pale sun was rising. Its pastel rays glided down onto the stones and the tree tops like a thin veil. The light of the new day was weak. Fragile ...

There was this strange feeling again when Connor stepped on the shore. Some kind of fear he couldn't understand. He knew that something was about to happen, that something had already happened. He hadn't heard anything of the other Assassins ever since he sent them away to their missions in the south. He had looked for them. Asked their friends and families in Boston and New York if they had returned. But the answer had always been 'no'. Everyone was worried. Stephane Chapheau, Duncan Little, Deborah Carter, Clipper Wilkinson, Jacob Zenger, Jamie Colley. Everyone was gone. Like fallen off the face of the world.

"Any orders, captain?"

Connor turned to Mr. Faulkner, paused, then commanded: "We will leave again soon. Be prepared."

"Aye, captain."

Connor was thankful that his first mate didn't ask unnecessary questions. He wouldn't have been able to answer them. He wasn't even sure what to do himself, why he came back to the Davenport Homestead instead of continuing the investigation in South Carolina where the last Assassin, Clipper, had disappeared. Maybe he just needed a pause to think properly and to make some kind of a plan.

It felt strange to follow only his feelings this time. There weren't any rational arguments anymore, no one to give him advice, no one to argue with since Achilles had passed. He couldn't find out anything in Boston and New York, so he indeed had only his intuition and the vague plan to set off for Charleston the next morning. As well as the slight, little thought, this feeling that ... All six Assassins had disappeared. So it actually had something to do with the Brotherhood. It could be a strike against it. But Templars? It wasn't long ago since he put an end to their order in North America. Not forever, of course, he understood that perfectly. But was it possible that the enemy had recovered so quickly? The last British troops had left six months ago, so only one and a half year had passed since he killed Charles Lee. Had it been enough? His father had told him that what the Templars really wanted was peace. Yet after freeing themselves from the British rule the main connecting consent of the Colonies was gone. Debates were held about constitution, debts and slavery. Many different ideas, fears and desires. Everything somewhere between morality and feasibility.

His father had foreseen it: 'There will never be a consensus, son, among those you have helped to ascend. They differ in their views of what it means to be free. The peace you so desperately seek does not exist. Even when your kind appears to triumph ... still, we rise again. And do you know why? It is because the Order is born of a realization. We require no creed! No indoctrination by desperate, old men. All we need is that the world be as it is. And this is why the Templars will never be destroyed!'

Realization ... For the Iroquois Confederacy the American Revolution had been a civil war with the Mohawk, Seneca, Onondaga and Cayuga siding with the British and the Tuscarora and Oneida partly allied with the Colonists. So much slaughter. Bloodshed. His own people had not only betrayed their former allies but also participated in massacres against settlers, arousing hatred and speeding up the loss of their land after the war. The Colonists and the Militia also had been slaughtering Natives. Everyone slaughtering each other. Leaving behind nothing but hostility.

Had he understood this whole war back then? When he started it? When be believed in it? Now, as the war had ended, the facts started speaking to him with a clearer voice than ever: many facts, many incidents, many massacres, many controversies. And the fact that he probably was the last Mohawk in this lands which weren't even the Mohawk Valley. As well as the fact that he probably didn't count since he was only a half one.

Was his decision an error then? Was everything he had done wrong? He had never felt that being an Assassin was wrong. Maybe it was even the only decision he didn't question now. And this - not only the fact that he actually had to find his lost friends - made him so determined about saving the Brotherhood.

If the disappearance of his brothers had anything to do with the Templars, then sooner or later they would come to the Davenport Manor. They would come for _him_. Connor's intuition told him to give them a chance, to wait for them. His mind told him that this was the only way to find a trail. So he would stay in the manor for this night. Being the cheese in the mousetrap.

The pillars at the portal shone mildly in the morning sun like covered with golden silk. The ornament-like shadows on the brick wall, casted by tree crowns, moved slowly with a late May's breeze. Peacefully. As always.

And still, there was one thing that felt like a blow into his face. A strong smell of rum stung in his nose just when he reached the door. He spun around and found himself at the pointed end of a blade.

"Well, well, look who's here," sounded the voice of a youngster in the middle of his voice break.

Connor stayed calm. He tried to identify the bad smelling figure with ginger hair leaning against the white column and to grasp why he didn't notice this person earlier. After all, usually it wasn't difficult to spot a faltering man wearing a shabby uniform, holding a bottle of rum and reeking about ten miles ahead.

"Holy shit!" continued the rough mumbling. "Just what have you done to your hair?!" The sword pointed now at the single hair strip on his head. "This looks awful! But at least ..." The young veteran paused and a grin spread on his face. "At least you still have your cute cheekbones. You can't shave them off after all, can you?"

He seemed to find his joke incredibly funny as he burst in a drunken giggle. Connor just looked at him in deepest bewilderment about the 'cute cheekbones', lowering his eyes at the level of the young man's chest and realizing that if he would have bound something tightly around it he - or rather she - would have looked like a young man indeed. Yet like this it was clearly a woman, and definitely not a youth anymore. Just what had she done to her voice? And what did her visit portend? At least she seemed to know him while he hadn't any idea of who she was.

"Who are you, and how do you know me?" he finally asked.

"How I know you?" She burst out laughing. "Well, there was that crossbreed in a funny hood running suicidally across the battlefield of Bunker Hill in order to kill Major John Pitcairn. Can I be blamed for my curiosity?

"As for your other question ..." She suddenly put her sword away and made a deep bow. "Margaret Tyler at your service. Or Lieutenant Jacob Henderson. Call me as you please."

So she knew about Pitcairn ... Connor wasn't sure what to think about this unexpected encounter. On the one hand he had more important things to do than talking to a dunk woman, yet on the other hand he obviously had been watched for years without noticing it. Margaret Tyler definitely wasn't an ordinary woman. She seemed pretty comfortable with wearing men's clothing, having her unkempt, shoulder-length hair tied to a little ponytail and carrying a sword, a dagger and two pistols with her. Her originally blue uniform was covered in old blood, and the little and ring finger of her left hand were missing. Everything about her appearance seemed troubling.

However, maybe he was too suspicious. Maybe she didn't know too much about him - and, he hoped, about the Assassin Order. But it would be very unwise not to investigate this. Apparently, there were people who had learned more about him than it was acceptable. And it could have something to do with the missing Assassins.

"Why did you come here?" he continued questioning.

She gave him another grin. "To see how you are, of course! Since there is still one thing I don't understand about you: How can a crazy idealist like you run from one suicidal mission to another and survive each fucking time, while George and Peter who didn't believe any less in the ideas of the Revolution died so quickly? And now that you see the Patriots are just the same human beings caring only for their own asses as the British ... Oh, I've heard about the selling of the land your people used to live on. I was wondering how you deal with it. Betrayed ... Abused ... Quite an outsider in this oh so free country."

That. Hit. Home. This woman definitely knew where to strike.

"There is still hope," he replied, clenching his teeth and frantically trying to prevent his hands from doing something inconsiderate. "Just look around you! This settlement! We manage to live brotherly in peace and harmony."

"Yes, of course." She didn't seem to let his speech make any impression on her. "But for how long?"

"For as long as I can protect this peace. I and others who believe in a better future."

Margaret didn't answer at first. Instead, she raised her green eyes and pierced him with a strange stare. Not cold, but still hostile and with a remarkable amount of sorrow in it.

"You sound just like George and Peter," she said finally with her voice suddenly becoming calmer and less reminding of a voice break, though still strangely rough and deep for a woman, like swelling from beneath the earth. "You survived many times, but one day fortune will abandon you. Men like you don't live long. You are doomed."

And having said this she fainted. Just fainted. He didn't even have time to notice how unnatural it was, since his first reflex was to catch her as she collapsed. He had to do something. Yes, she was suspicious. But she needed help. A bed at first.

He saw no other option but to carry her into the manor, hoping that Achilles - wherever his soul might be now - wouldn't mind if he placed Margaret down on the old man's bed. Now with her tricorn lying next to her and giving a free sight on her face, for a moment, he marvelled at the piglet pink colour of her skin and the many freckles on her cheeks. Even compared to other Colonial people her appearance was extreme.

There wasn't much time for analyzing her skin, though. He had to think and to prepare. And to ask Diana if she could look after Margaret. Just in case.

Since thinking and walking to Diana's house could be combined he decided to do it right now. Then, as he stepped out the manor and overlooked the land lying under the thin, golden veil he suddenly remembered the last words of Achilles:

'I trust you now know this place has become something of great significance. A community to serve as an example of what this would-be-nation could become. But the larger and stronger it grows, the more fragile and difficult to defend it becomes.'

With everything Connor had seen of this would-be-nation and the Assassins being in a new conflict ... Never have these words been so true. And it was up to him to protect the Brotherhood and the homestead from sharing the fate of his people. He couldn't afford ... He wouldn't fail this time. 'For at my side walks hope. In the face of all that insists I turn back, I carry on: This - this is my compromise.'

* * *

To be contunued ...

Hello everyone! I hope you liked the first chapter. In case you want to read more, here's some information: This story consists of 15 chapters, and each Thursday a new chapter will be uploaded. If you liked the first one and want to give some feedback - don't be shy. If you want to criticise, don't hesitate as well. As long as it's not insulting I'll appreciate it.


	2. Crucial Misunderstanding

**Chapter 2: Crucial Misunderstanding**

"It does not seem to be anything serious," he reported to Diana as they hurried back to the manor. "I am sure she only had too much rum."

"Drunkenness can become a serious problem," Diana replied. "We may even have to call for Dr. White for a bloodletting. But let's hope it's indeed as harmless as it can be."

Diana had immediately agreed to help, but as for a plan Connor still hadn't achieved anything he could call a success. If he only had the aid of his Assassins so they could hide inside and outside the house and wait for the enemy to come! There was still one more Assassin left, of course, Robert Faulkner, but Connor had serious difficulties to imagine his first mate lurking somewhere in a wardrobe, in a tree or, even worse, under a bed. Another option was to be the only man hiding. He had taken on many enemies all alone earlier. And maybe there would be only a few men. Or a whole army. He didn't know. He didn't know his enemy at all.

What made trap planning especially difficult was Margaret. Even if her fainting didn't have a serious cause she would need much sleep to recover. Staying in the manor would be too dangerous, so he would have to ask the residents of the homestead if they could keep her in one of their houses.

They were approaching the Davenport Manor by now, and this time something actually _was _suspicious. Connor couldn't say what it was, but he had a very bad feeling about this and told Diana to stop.

"What is it?"

Connor didn't answer. He moved slowly forward, carefully watching to all sides. A short, sudden movement ... Someone was definitely hiding behind the trees and in the bushes.

"Come out! I know you are there!" he shouted.

"A-as you wish ..."

A young man stood up behind the bushes. Twenty at most. Dark-haired, with big blue eyes and a shy expression.

Connor stared at him for quite a few seconds. Was _this _his enemy?

The voice of the young man was even trembling as he spoke again: "I-it's not m-me you should look at, y-you know ..."

The same moment a shrill cry rent the air. Connor spun around and saw something that made him realize his failure: A much bigger and stronger man had grabbed Diana and was holding a knife to her throat. She looked pale and paralyzed as if frozen in time.

"Release her!"

"Lay down your weapons! Now!" shouted the bigger man, pressing his knife even stronger against Diana's throat.

Why? Just - why?! Of course this could happen! Diana had been in danger from the moment on he greeted her. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"Weapons down, I said! 'Urry!"

Diana was innocent. She hadn't anything to do with all that, being held fast and squeaking silently with fright. Connor felt a terrible cramp inside his chest, his heart trying to press itself together to the size of a pea, yet he had no choice but to pass his tomahawk, sword, pistols, rope-darts, bow and arrows to the young man who very soon looked heavily overloaded.

"The 'idden blades too," the big man grunted.

So he knew.

"Are you Templars?" Connor tried to stay as calm as possible as he removed his hidden blades.

"No questions!"

"I did what you said. Now release her."

Instead of the big man his animal instinct reacted. He spun around, getting hold of a third man attacking him from behind with a sword. He twisted his arm and grabbed him again. Something inside the man's body cracked, then he fell howling to the ground.

"Don't move, dammit!" the big man cried.

"Let. Her. Go." Connor's voice had become dangerously low. A little more, and he would ...

A sudden pain hit his head. The homestead gyrated. Then everything went black.

* * *

When he came back to his senses the first thing he felt was pain around his wrists. Then he noticed that except for his head he couldn't move at all. Someone had done a great job in putting bonds, ropes and everything possible and impossible around his body only to keep him sitting on his chair. With his senses returning he remembered everything that had happened and an ache spread from the back of his head directly inside his thoughts so that he could hardly focus on what was going on.

However, he saw that he was in the reading room of the manor and that Diana was on the other side of the room, also tied to a chair. She didn't seem hurt except for a small cut on her neck coming from the pressure of the big man's knife. The big man himself stood in the middle of the room thinking and grumbling. No sign of the others.

"You could at least stop the bleeding," spitted Connor with a nod in the direction of Diana whose face was all white. She didn't make a single sound.

"You're awake. Finally." The big man didn't even try to hide his bad mood.

"What do you want from me?"

Instead of an answer the big man approached and leaned down to him. Looked in Connor's eyes, and Connor looked back. Staring coldly in the man's round face without blinking until his opponent turned his gaze away.

"'Ow d'ya know about the rebuildin' of our order?" he asked as he walked around the room. "Who are your informants?"

"Informants?!" To be honest, Connor had expected everything but that.

"Stop actin' as if ya didn't know anythin', dirty half-caste! We know ya were watchin' us! Ya even killed one of our most promisin' members. Major Jonathan Tyler, remember?"

"Who is Major Jonathan Tyler?" asked Connor with his eyes full of innocence. He heard this name for the first time. Were the Templars truly paying him a visit and revealing their presence only because of a misunderstanding?

"Stop actin', I said!" the Templar yelled, and his face became red like a tomato.

"Stop shouting!" answered a familiar rough voice.

Everyone gazed at the doorway where a ginger haired woman in an old, dirty officer uniform was standing and reeking of rum.

"Margaret Tyler!" the big man exclaimed. "Didn't know ya were 'ere! An' wot's the smell!"

"Well, I had to fool the Assassin somehow, didn't I?" she smiled, entering the room.

"So Nathaniel has told ya ... Are you goin' to join us? He spoke highly of your abilities."

"Oh, I'm honoured. But I'm still not sure."

This, too, Connor should have known. Margaret hadn't appeared by accident. Today he made one mistake after another. He grew mad at himself.

"So ..." Margaret said as she approached Connor. "What are your plans with him?"

For some reason she lowered her right hand onto his head, examining it. Carefully, one could even say tenderly. Connor tried to suppress his anger about that - to keep his mind clear. Just why were the Colonists always so eager to touch others?!

"You're not a member yet. I'm not allowed to talk to ya about such things," answered the Templar with such a cool voice that it even sounded like a threat.

Margaret looked pretty unimpressed.

"You know, I believe, that once I'm a member I'll immediately get a higher rank than you, Mr. Frank. I had a good education, speak four languages and have years of experience in combat and strategy. And what are you? An illiterate bandit and deserter, nothing more. You should get used to obeying my orders."

"You're still not a member," the big man grumbled.

"Yet the widow of Jonathan and a good friend to Nathaniel. And I have the right to know what happens to the murderer of my husband."

This was too much for Connor. Couldn't someone just explain what was going on?

"I did not murder him!" he insisted, and Margaret and the Templar turned their attention back to him.

"Shut up, Assassin," said Margaret, giving him a pat against his head - exactly where the bruise was. Connor clenched his teeth.

"Aye," the Templar agreed. "If ya don't wanna give us the names of your informants then don't say anythin' at all. As for you," he addressed Margaret again, "if ya want information then ask your good friend Nathaniel directly."

"I will," she answered. "For I don't want to miss the half-breed's death. It was him who made me a widow for the second time. I hardly started to live again. After the war, after all those losses. The Templars will extinguish the Assassin Brotherhood completely this time, I trust?"

This question blew all the pain from Connor's head and wrists. So indeed, it were the Templars. Did they really ..? He barely dared to breathe. Stephane ... Dobby ... He tensed his muscles, trying to tear his bonds apart. In vain. The Templars had tied him too well to his chair.

"You will play for this," he growled, fiercely staring at Frank.

But Frank ignored him, whereas Margaret gave him another pat against his bruise, causing the pain strike his head again. Then her fingers - tenderly! - slid down to his neck, as if trying to tell him to calm down. This woman was awful ... Connor growled again, but realized that he couldn't do more than only listen for the time being. The time to strike would come soon enough ...

"Dis is exactly wot the plan is," the big man nodded. "We already captured his followers. Dis leaves only the informants, the traitors in our own ranks. But maybe 'e'll speak if we torture 'is friends before 'is eyes. Dis was actually part of the plan."

Captured ... Connor relaxed his muscles a little. This meant that at least they were still alive. There was a chance to save them ... And he would!

"And after that you'll kill them all?" Margaret continued questioning.

"Aye, I suppose."

"What a waste ..." With a sudden smile Margaret leaned down to Connor, now shamelessly touching his face. "He's quite handsome. Just look at these cheekbones, these eyebrows ... Why is it always the good looking ones who must die? On the other hand, of course, being so cute should be forbidden anyway. He makes me forget my obligations as a mourning widow." Her smile grew full of evil sweetness. "He should be punished. What about the classical approach? Torture that woman over there, get your answers, then lock all the residents of this place, women and children too, in the church, light it and let him watch his friends burning alive. Then burn him together with his house. This place won't be an Assassin nest ever again."

Connor's heart had stopped beating while he listened. Could this woman still be called a human being after proposing such savagery? Once he managed to free himself she would pay for her words just like Frank and the others! At the same time, however, he perfectly knew that it was his fault. It was him who had let her in, it was him who had been fooled, and it was him who hadn't been cautious enough. In one point the Templars were definitely right: He _was _naive. So naive that it would cost lives of innocents.

"Margaret!" Even the Templar looked shocked. "We can't do dis! Do ya realize wot a provocation it would be? Our orders are to operate underground, to stay unseen. Such a massacre would draw attention and destroy all our plans! Anyway, you'll 'ave to ask the 'eadquarters in New York for permission to do somethin' like that!"

"Then I should do it, eh?" Margaret said with a crooked smile. "Or maybe not. Do you wish to know why I hesitate to join the Templars, Mr. Frank?" She finally let off Connor and walked slowly towards the big man. "Your order's actions I saw until now gave me the impression that the Templars actually are a bunch of pussies. Just look at yourself! How many are you? Five? You, that stammering child and three more whom I don't know. I counted five. Five against one. And you, Mr. Frank, I saw you, a strong, grown man, hiding behind a woman. That crossbreed may have murdered my husband, but he still deserves more respect than you. You're not half as worth as his little toe. It's such a humiliation to even talk to you!"

"Then don't," Frank hissed. The colour of his face was hard to describe. It was an impossibly dark red, at the same time glowing like hot iron. His fingers were trembling while he stood in the middle of the room, trying to suppress his conspicuous anger and hatred. Obviously he didn't dare to attack 'a good friend to Nathaniel'.

Connor watched this scene with growing bewilderment. Just what did all this mean ..?

"Not only that," Margaret continued, completely ignoring Frank's state and stroking his neck with the same evil sweetness she had treated Connor with. "You're an amateur beyond comparison. You managed to trap the Assassin by pure luck. Maybe your non-existent plan would have even worked if you hadn't made one crucial mistake: It is most unwise to let your men stay alone in separate rooms."

"They're guardin' the doors and the 'ouse outside," snarled Frank.

Margaret came closer to him, so her face was next to his now.

"Wrong. They _were_ guarding the doors and the house outside."

There was a short metallic noise, and a small fountain of blood splashed out of Frank's throat. He moved his mouth, trying to say something, while his eyes bulged from their sockets. He wavered and then sank to the ground.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted," Margaret said as her hidden blade clicked back.

* * *

To be continued ...

Thanks to everyone reading this story! Since I'm not a native speaker of the English language it means a lot to me that my writing seems to make a little bit sense. ;)


	3. Children's Laughter

**Chapter 3: Children's Laughter**

"You are an Assassin?!"

Connor didn't know what to believe anymore. First that false drunkenness, then that savage scenario and now the killing of his enemies. Yet if she was an Assassin - why didn't he know her? And why had she been married to a Templar? This woman seemed to play her very own game in this war.

"To make it clear," Margaret answered, still gazing at Frank's dead body, "I am not an Assassin. Always remember that. In this particular moment I'm an ally, though. I don't know why myself. So don't ask."

She turned around and looked at Connor for a while, then walked towards Diana to cut the ropes around her wrists. As much effort the Templars had given to tie up Connor so little they had given to do the same with Diana. However, she looked as if she didn't have had to be tied up at all: When she was freed she still didn't move. Just what had she gone through - and only because of Connor's failure!

"Listen." Margaret grabbed Diana's shoulders, stared piercingly in her eyes and was talking to her with a low, haunting voice. "If you value your life and that of your family: All of this never happened. You don't know anything. It was only an absurd nightmare not worth to be talked about. Understood?"

Diana reacted with a shaky nod.

"Very well. Go home now."

With a sudden stroke life returned into Diana's body. She sprang up to her feet and hurried outside, leaving Connor and Margaret alone. Nobody said anything. Margaret appeared just as overwhelmed with the situation as Connor. She stood next to Diana's empty chair, again staring thoughtfully at Frank's corpse.

"I would be grateful if you could untie me as well." This was the only thing that came to Connor's swamped mind.

Margaret startled, promptly returning to reality. She hurried to Connor and started to remove the ropes, cloths and blankets around his body.

"Holy shit, just what did they do to you!" She tried to smile. "Well, this means that you can be proud of yourself. They were really afraid of you. Being tied like this should be considered a compliment."

"I prefer not to be tied at all," he replied gloomily.

"Me too," she said, still busy untying him. "How are you feeling? The bruise on your head doesn't seem to be a serious injury. You'll probably have a headache, but it should go away very soon."

"To be honest, I barely can feel my arms and legs," confessed Connor noticing it just right now himself. "The bonds were very tight."

"Yes, indeed," Margaret agreed as she tried to loosen a knot with her teeth after failing in doing it with her fingers. "Your hands are quite cold. You should wait a little before you try to stand up."

"I know." Suddenly another important issue found a way back into Connor's mind and he promptly changed the topic: "I really did not murder your husband."

"Of course you didn't," Margaret said with a casual tone. She stood up and looked almost proudly at what she had achieved: a little mountain range made of blankets and cut ropes all around Connor's chair. Then her gaze grew serious all of a sudden and her voice strangely hollow: "I did."

Connor only opened his mouth and closed it again. So all of this had happened thanks to her. The Templar visit, Diana's hostage-taking ... However, it had provided answers. At least Connor knew what had happened to the other Assassins. Should he be thankful to Margaret?

Before he could say anything she had started speaking again.

"He proved useful in the end," she sighed, turning Frank's body with her foot on its back. "We have an idea of what the Templars are plotting, and we know that their headquarters is somewhere in New York. However, maybe we can find more information in Boston. Nathaniel is still there, and he's definitely not least important in the Order."

"So you are going to help me investigating?" Connor eyed her up carefully. He couldn't afford another failure.

"No, my dear." Margaret's voice became quite commanding. "_You _are going to help _me _investigating. I just saved your sweet ass, and I am the one whom Nathaniel considers his soul mate. So you'll have to do as I say, Assassin, or I may decide to drop my alliance with you. So listen: Clean up this mess," she kicked Frank's corpse, "and come as quickly as you can to Boston. Take the Aquila. We may travel not only to New York. I'll wait for you at the docks tomorrow morning. When you arrive we'll go investigating. Don't come near me. Make sure that no one sees you following me. Have I made myself clear?"

It was definitely Lieutenant Jacob Henderson speaking. As much as Connor wouldn't like it, he had no other choice than to obey Margaret's orders. They made sense, and as far as he understood the situation he actually needed her. Yet he didn't like anything about this. For a short moment she had seemed even a nice person to him, but now that he heard the lieutenant he immediately dropped the idea. Instead of an answer he put on the coldest stare he was capable of.

Seeing this reaction Margaret returned his freezing gaze and pushed her mandible forward in a determined attempt to show 'just how fucking unimpressed' she was by this tall and muscle-bound Assassin in front of her. Her piglet pink coloured face got a bright reddish shade, but she wouldn't turn her eyes away until she realized that she was gazing at his cheekbones instead of continuing the staring duel and that he actually had noticed it. She marched out of the house without any other word.

* * *

It was quite cold at the docks of Boston. It wasn't long ago that a storm had passed, and the heavy grey clouds still didn't seem to consider leaving the sky a good idea. It was this particular storm that had prevented the Aquila from arriving to Boston in the morning. It was midday by now, and Connor wondered if Margaret was still waiting for him.

It took him quite a while to figure out that the woman who had attracted his attention first - by wearing a dress and a bonnet both in black which was fairly unusual - actually _was _Margaret. Then he remembered something about the Colonial customs and realized that it was only logical that a new-fledged widow would wear all black to show the world her deep grief. The existence of which Connor in fact very much doubted.

The moment he finally recognized her she only raised her left brow in disappointment. Connor answered with a cold stare and put on his hood. She understood the gesture, for she immediately started walking towards the downtown area.

He followed. With distance, as if he went the same way as her only by accident. However, Margaret didn't make it difficult for him to hide their affiliation, since she chose to walk wide streets with as much crowd as possible. Sometimes she had to stop when another citizen greeted her and expressed his condolences. Many good words were spoken about Major Jonathan Tyler, what a nice and friendly person he had been, what a brave soldier, what a loss to everyone. The widow talked silently, thanked a lot and a few times Connor even heard something like suppressed sobbing.

After walking like this for quite a while they finally reached their destination: a pretty average and nondescript brick house like there were dozens. When Margaret knocked the door Connor quietly slipped behind the corner where he conveniently found an open window. He only had to lean against the wall next to it to hear everything going on inside.

"Oh, it's you, Meggie! How are you?" a female voice exclaimed.

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," Margaret answered.

"I'm still so sorry for everything that happened! First your son, now your husband! I admire your strength to endure all this!"

"Thank you."

"Come in, come in, my dear. You come to visit Nathaniel, right? He's not here right now. He's on a meeting with - you know - his 'friends'. However, he should be back very soon."

"And you? You look as if you were about to leave."

"Oh, I was. Lydia is still ill, and I promised to visit her."

"What about the children? Shall I look after the little ones? You know how I adore them. You're so lucky, Lizzy! I envy you so much!"

"Don't talk like that, Meggie! I know how much you've lost, but it's not the end! You'll recover from your sorrow, marry again and have as much children as you want!"

"I know, you mean well, Lizzy, but please don't talk rubbish. I'm twenty nine years old, nearly thirty. I'm not a young girl anymore who can just marry. I have three dead children and two dead husbands. My body is covered with scars, and I have only eight fingers. My fingertips are burnt from loading hot muskets. My voice is destroyed by shouting commands. I've seen death and pain, men becoming animals, I killed, I betrayed those who begged me for life. After all this I'm not a woman anymore."

"Meggie, Meggie, believe me! It's only a phase. All wounds will heal. Just give them time!"

Margaret didn't answer. The bitter seriousness of her tone had made Connor believe that she actually spoke honestly. Yet he wasn't sure what to think about this highly interesting biography. Of course he couldn't help but feel sorry for her, but nothing he had learned answered questions about her trustworthiness.

"So do you need me to look after your children?" Margaret spoke again.

"Thank you so much for the offer, but Martha looks after them already."

"She's become a very mature and responsible girl."

"Thanks. I'm very proud of her."

"You have every reason to be."

"Now ... I'm afraid I really should go now. I'm so sorry, Meggie, but I know you understand ... Poor Lydia is lying in her bed all alone ... You can stay and wait in the house, if you like. The children are upstairs, in case you want to play or chat with them. As I said, Nathaniel will be back soon ..."

"Thank you. Please give Lydia my regards. I hope she'll recover soon."

The two women made their farewells, and the door snapped shut. There was no doubt that nothing interesting would go on until Nathaniel arrived, so Connor decided to climb onto the roof. He had been standing next to the window for a long time now, and some passers-by were already eyeing him suspiciously.

Reaching the roof he took up position with view towards the broad street and leaning against the chimney. Quite comfortable. In the room under him the children of Nathaniel and Lizzy were playing, so that constant laughter penetrated his right ear. This and the sun finally breaking through the grey clouds reminded him of something. Something he wished for and that would never happen. It was Dobby Carter whom he told it back then. Only her since no one else had ever asked. A simple question: 'How is it a man like you has no wife?' - 'I do not have the time to give a woman what she deserves,' Connor had replied. 'Perhaps when all this is over, I will be able to settle and have a family. I hope.'

Settle down and have a family. Not much. Quite a normal and commonplace vision of future.

But he was an Assassin. There was no 'over' for someone like him. He had been very naive back then. He had thought that he only had to kill the Templars, and then everything would be over. That there would be a new country in which he could live quietly in peace. That there would be no war anymore. No injustice. No suppression.

This was not the way things were. Stop injustice and suppression on one side - and it would break out on the other. There was slavery in the United States, people were driven away from their lands, colliding interests, everyone was still fighting for their own existence. No wonder that the Templar Order was rising anew. Like an abscess returning again and again, for the disease still remains, no matter how resolutely one fights the symptoms.

Connor's task as an Assassin was not to heal it. It was to make healing possible so that the people could heal themselves. Each time he did something for the people it was an act of trust - of trust in someone unreliable, in someone who had already disappointed him many times.

It _did _hurt. It hurt that this war maybe would never come to an end.

That there wouldn't ever be peace for him.

He remembered talking to Benjamin Tallmadge about something like that. About the incompatibility of family and being an Assassin. 'My father was an Assassin,' Benjamin had said. 'Quite good at his job, too, as I understand it. But ... I hope to have children some day. It's hard to live in two worlds at the same time. So I chose to live in one.'

Well, Connor's hope that the Assassin world would become small, vanish even after he had wiped out the Templar Order had fallen apart. What now? The answer was simple: nothing. To have a family would mean to bring danger over those whom he loved. Poor Diana still had been pale when he visited her yesterday to apologize for everything that had happened. What if he would have children one day and someone would hold his knife to _their _throats? Would he be able to live with the constant fear that this could happen? No. Being an Assassin meant to be alone. To be an outsider. Forever.

What was sure was that the part of him which still wished for a peaceful life had to die. If he wouldn't fight for the people - no one would. There was nothing to do about it. And this was a thought that comforted Connor a little bit. He had no choice. He wasn't forced to make a painful decision. So there was no reason for such sad thoughts. His path was clear, and he wasn't here, on this rooftop, to mourn over a lost dream. He was here to wait for the Templar Nathaniel.

Hoping that he didn't miss anything important while he had been lost in thought, he approached the edge of the roof to have a better view. Not a moment too soon: A tall man in a brown jacket was walking towards the house. Shiny golden hair protruded from under his tricorn, and his step was firm, even military. Margaret - a lieutenant, Jonathan - a major. Connor wondered if Nathaniel was an officer too.

Then he startled. He had heard about a certain Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Cross who was highly respected in Boston. Could the Templar Nathaniel and the lieutenant colonel be the same person? Intrigued by this presumption he jumped down into the alley and leaned against the wall near the window again.

"Oh! Meggie! I should've known you're here! How are you?"

"It depends on the news."

"The news ... Well, the news is bad. Magnus Frank is dead - his men as well. The Assassin has been warned. That means ... Only the Boston Branch of our order knew about the attack. So the traitor is among us. And with Jonathan and Magnus killed ... It leaves four. I can say for sure, of course, that I am not the traitor. So it has to be Vincent, Charles or William."

"So what are your plans?"

"To find out who's the informant. It could be one. Or two. Or all three. I don't know. And I don't have a plan how to find out yet. Furthermore, there was a pigeon from New York. As the Master of the Boston Branch I'm ordered to come to the headquarters immediately, so I can't investigate. And to make all this even worse: The Assassin has disappeared. He's up to something. God knows what he's doing. Maybe he's even eavesdropping on us outside that window right now."

Connor suppressed a cough. Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there was some irony in this situation ...

"Meggie ..." Nathaniel's voice suddenly became weak and silent. "I don't know what's going to happen now. What the Grand Master is up to. How I'm supposed to find the traitor. What will become of Lizzy and the children. I ..."

"What shall become of them? Going to New York doesn't mean ..."

"You don't understand. Grand Master Greencog is a British asshole. After the death of Haytham Kenway and Charles Lee he was sent here from London. We had only minor ranks inside the Order back then. The most of us were apprentices. When he arrived we were hastily promoted. He wants us to work quickly and effectively with immediate results. We aren't allowed to do mistakes. But I failed. Greencog ordered me to New York to punish me."

"He ... he won't ..."

"He won't kill me, no. But sending me away is not unlikely. And I will lose everything I set up so laboriously. My family will stay behind, I will lose my status, and you know how ... You know how hard I worked on my carrier. It's not easy to become a lieutenant colonel, especially if you're literally a son of a whore. And now ... Do you know who Greencog is? A goddamn brewer! He doesn't have a brewery anymore, but still ... I'm going to bow to a brewer! To a brainless brewer who has no idea of this country's concerns. You'll see: He'll plunge the Colonial Rite into ruin. I only wish Haytham Kenway would still be alive. He had real authority. And now ... Isn't it ironical? That Assassin, his son, has destroyed my existence and is still more likely to me than my Grand Master. At least ... He's an honourable man like his father. I know, Meggie, I know that he has killed Jonathan. But if you knew him properly ... I've never met him personally, but I saw him from distance, heard him talking, and I heard other Templars talking about him ... You should know, Meggie, that many Templars are spoiled. They forget what our order stands for, that our goal is peace and safety for everyone so that our children can grow up in a world without suffering and pain. They lust for power and profit instead. There are not many left of us who still fight for the good of humanity. And this is why I highly respect Connor. He doesn't share my beliefs, but he is true to his cause."

To be honest, Connor couldn't believe his ears. A Templar speaking so well of him?! He even took on the risk and glimpsed into the window, hoping that he would be able to see the lieutenant colonel's face. And he was: Nathaniel Cross was a man in his thirties, well-built and with bright blue eyes. A resolute, but still friendly face. It was hard to believe that someone like him was a Templar.

"So why are you still in the Order? Why don't you just leave? Maybe you could even ... Maybe you could even find a common ground with the Assassin? - What was his name again? - I wouldn't mind, honestly. I ..."

"I know, Meggie. I know that your mourning over Jonathan is partly fake. I know you well enough. As well as I knew Jonathan. Oh yes, I noticed how he changed after the war. You never complained, but to me it was obvious that he had become abusive towards you. I even had a fight with him because of that."

"You ... You shouldn't have done that."

"I had no choice, and you know why! I told you once, but I'll repeat it as many times as necessary: I've met you far too late. I really like Elizabeth, but if not for the children ..."

"I know, Nat. And as you said: It's far too late. So don't talk about it anymore. With Jonathan's change I've already lost one close friend. I don't want to lose you too."

Did Margaret still remember that Connor was listening? Sometimes it was necessary to eavesdrop on other people, but, to put it mildly, Connor didn't enjoy listening to such private conversations.

"Yes ... Yes, of course. You're right ..." stammered Nathaniel.

"So ... Still no idea what you're going to do?"

"I ... Well, maybe I have an idea now. Do you remember what we talked about during the war? Do you remember our dreams? You said yourself that humans are weak, irresponsible and selfish like little children. That once the Revolutionary War has ended there would still be injustice. That humans will never change. Jonathan, you and me - the three of us ... Do you remember how we dreamed of peace? This is what the Templars stand for. This is why I can't join the Assassins. Because they fight for freedom. But the people are blind and selfish. They don't have the maturity to be free. This is what you have said back then."

"So you're asking me ..."

"To join the Templars, yes. There are not many left whom I can trust. Together we could restore the Order and make it what it's supposed to be. We could make our dreams come true."

"I ..."

Suddenly she appeared in the window. Looked up, down, to the left, to the right ... Then her eyes met Connor's. Without saying anything she reached out her right hand to him, as if offering a pact, and turned around so that Nathaniel wouldn't see it. Was she going to infiltrate the Templar Order? Connor recollected her words from their first encounter. 'And now that you see that the Patriots are just the same human beings caring only for their own asses as the British ...' This was what she had said back then. It seemed like it actually was what she really believed, and ... the Templar Order would fit her perfectly. But still ... she reached out her hand to _him_.

He raised his own and took hers. She responded with squeezing his hand and then releasing it. And answering to Nathaniel.

"Well, I ... I think, it wouldn't be a bad idea."

"You agree?! Meggie, this is the first good news for today! I ... Meggie, I need you. Listen: Tonight I'll depart for New York, so we won't meet again soon. However, I'll order a gathering of the Boston Branch for tomorrow before sunrise. We have to be very discreet. Vincent will pick you up and guide you to our meeting point. I will leave him in charge as Master, so he'll do the initiation ritual."

"Understood."

"And there's one more thing, Meggie ... Since I don't know when we'll meet again I'd like to give you my first order as your Master right now."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I know, you'll hate it, and I hate it just as much as you, but: Vincent, Charles and William. - Kill all the three of them."

* * *

To be continued ...


	4. Unmasking

**Chapter 4: Unmasking**

Again streets, again fake sobbing. Connor followed Margaret back in the direction of the docks, still overwhelmed by what he had heard. It was just too much at once. A Templar who ordered the assassination of other Templars? Yet this was actually what Nathaniel had instructed. Connor had heard his words clearly.

He stopped as Margaret entered a white wooden house. Very soon after that a window that went out to an alley was opened and a hand made an inviting gesture. Connor leapt inside.

It was dark there. The windows were closed and the curtains were drawn so that only little sunlight could trickle through. After closing the window through which Connor had entered Margaret lit candles on the wooden table in the middle of the room.

"No one should know you're here," she explained.

"I understand," Connor nodded. "Yet I wonder why you needed me to follow you."

She turned to him, frowning.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm talking to Templars, acting as if I had learned about your silly war just recently. Without rising suspicion. Because if they grew suspicious they actually would be able to find out the truth about my origin. The former generation of the Colonial Rite kept a list with the names of all the Assassins. I never was a real Assassin, and I made peace with the Templars in 1772. Yet it still doesn't change anything about the fact that I sabotaged some of their plans. I don't think that they ever deleted my name from that list. They can figure out who I am if they only want to, and I was worried: What if they already did? I don't know how good or bad my acting was or whether I've been watched. So I needed you for protection. Just in case they'd attack me."

"So there actually _is_ a connection between you and the Assassins?" Now it was Connor who frowned, and his shock over Nathaniel's orders faded into the background for the time being. "And still ... Is it really your belief that humans are weak and selfish? That humans are not mature enough to be free?"

"Aye. Why do you ask?"

"You think like a Templar."

For some reason Margaret grinned.

"You don't trust me, eh? And you're right to do so. But if it relieves you: Joining the Templars is the least thing I'd ever do. My parents were both Assassins and died fighting the Templars. Joining the Colonial Rite would be a disgrace to their sacrifices."

This news relieved Connor only a little. Margaret had actually made peace with the Templars. On the other hand, however, Achilles had done the same after the death of his family and the destruction of the Colonial Assassins. And wasn't Margaret providing information for him and even infiltrating the Templar Order? Yet he had been deceived too often in the past. He had trusted those whom he shouldn't have trusted. He couldn't afford to make the same mistake again.

Margaret left for the upper floor without saying anything more, and Connor stayed alone in the dining room. Should he trust her or not? She was afraid that the Templars could find out the truth about her. She took risks to help Connor, but she didn't tell him why. What was this woman up to? Why trusted the Templar Master of Boston her so blindly? Jonathan Tyler, Nathaniel Cross and Margaret alias Jacob Henderson seemed to have been close friends during the Revolutionary War. And eventually Margaret had married one of them while the other also had romantic feelings for her. What was going on? On which side stood Margaret? She seemed very serious about her friendship with Nathaniel and even had proposed him to become Connor's ally. She didn't want to lose him, but helping Connor meant to become his enemy. It couldn't be only for Connor's cheekbones that she turned against a close friend.

"You'll stay for supper I hope?"

Connor startled and looked at Margaret who had entered the room again. She had changed her black dress to a plain brown one with her hair tied to a simple ponytail. And there were freckles. Now that for the first time for today he had the opportunity for a closer look at her he again marvelled at the overly large amount of freckles. Freckles on her cheeks, freckles above her neckline, freckles on her forearms and even on the back of her hands. Freckles everywhere.

"What are you staring at? I'm not pretty enough for this", she grinned. "Or am I your type nonetheless? I wouldn't say no to the owner of such cute cheekbones, really. And you're still a virgin, aren't you? As far as I know, you must be. Awwwww, that's so adorable!" she squealed. "My first husband, George, was a virgin too. He was the son of a pastor and very religious. A true man of God. Lived like a monk in a monastery. You remind me of him sometimes."

What a compliment. It was as if there were actually two Margarets. A serious and sometimes even nice one and a very, very nasty one. Being adorable only because of being a virgin ... Connor had overheard everyday conversations in inns and camps often enough. Why were such private matters so important to so many people?

"Well, I assume you _will _supper with me," Margaret changed the topic. "You don't have another option, do you? You mustn't be seen in town, we have much to discuss, and before sunrise we'll go and do Nathaniel a favour, so he'll continue trusting me. Until then you'll stay here. But don't worry: You won't lose your virginity _this _night. I promise."

Connor gave her a cold stare, but regretted it the next moment, for his reaction seemed to amuse her.

"So you _are _a virgin, I can read it in your face!" Margaret cheered.

She played with him. All the time. She was acting, lying, provoking. - This was the reason why Connor couldn't trust her. He didn't know her real face.

"Yes, Conny, this is exactly the way it is," she said as if she had read his mind. "I never say anything without ulterior motives. My acting skills have always been my primary weapon. According to my mother, I inherited this talent from my father. I never knew him, since he died before I was born, but I was told that he even made Haytham Kenway trust him. Then my father revealed himself as an Assassin and tried to capture Kenway, but your father was a better swordsman and killed him. Maybe you were told about the tracking of your father to Boston. My father was on board of his ship. His name was Louis Mills."

Margaret was jumping from topic to topic. But this was actually Connor's chance. If he wanted to find out about Margaret's motives he probably had to ask her about her past.

"So you were born in England then?"

"Aye ..." Margaret talked much and very strategically, but this time she seemed to be in an especially talkative mood, for she took a seat at the table and invited Connor to do the same. "My mother and I came to the Colonies when I was four. She had a hard time back in England, since she and my father never got married. To put it poetically, I was a parting gift. Two young Assassins, madly in love with each other, but aware of the difficulties a love relationship would bring. However, when my father was ordered to follow Haytham Kenway to the other side of the world and it was clear that they wouldn't meet again very soon, they decided to forget about the fact that they were Assassins for once. At least this is the story how I put it together from what I was told. The only thing I really saw myself, of course, was the people's attitude towards my mother who got pregnant without being married."

"As far as I know your customs, this is not respected," Connor commented a little bit unsurely and trying not to insult her inadvertently.

But Margaret still reacted very emotionally: "To put it this way is an understatement! People gazed at her, called her a slut ... You see, I think, why she decided to leave. To move somewhere where people didn't know that I was an illegitimate child. The Brotherhood worked hard on strengthening their position in the Colonies, so she chose to join the American Brotherhood. This was in 1758 ... And then, well, for a short time life was better."

"The Assassins were hunted down in the 60's," Connor remembered.

"Aye ..." Margaret sighed. "The fight against the Templars became fierce. They slaughtered us or used their contacts and influence. My mother was accused of being involved in a conspiracy against the Crown, so she was arrested and executed in 1763. Hanged like a common criminal." Her voice grew bitter. She clenched her fist, and her gaze became harder, an empty stare through time. "I was there, I was watching. And I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't save her. But I knew who was responsible. I was only eight years old back then. Yet you know, I suppose, that a thirst for vengeance set in an early age wouldn't vanish easily, even with the Brotherhood destroyed."

So familiar. Growing up without a father, watching the mother die and revenge. Connor noticed too late that the joint trauma made him look at Margaret in a completely different light. She was acting, lying and provoking, but he was sure she told him the truth about her past. And this truth was: Her past was similar to his. Maybe he could understand her, the person she had become over years.

He remembered himself when he was younger. When he promised Charles Lee to find him. When he nearly started a fight with Church and Biddle trying to find out Lee's location. Confronting Charles Lee at the First Continental Congress. He had been impatient, driven by revenge. His hatred had made him do many foolish things. Had Margaret experienced the same?

"Did you get your vengeance?" he asked aloud.

Margaret smiled at him sadly. "Nearly. I was looking for Thomas Hickey, since it were his criminal contacts through which my mother's accusation was arranged. But I was completely alone. The Brotherhood didn't exist anymore, I had no spies, no influential contacts and last but not least: I was a little girl. My mother was dead, and my stepfather was busy running his little shop. So it was me who took care of the household and Peter, my younger half-brother. I was stuck home in Boston. But I kept training. Somehow I always found spare time to do exercises. I was raised by Assassins in order to become an Assassin myself, so I already had learned the basics. And then, when I turned thirteen, I decided that I was ready. I'll spare you the tale of Meggie the Parrot, though. I still wonder how I survived that time in my tender age, and it's too embarrassing."

Connor only raised his eyebrows in doubt. Embarrassing? This word existed in her vocabulary? However, apparently she had been as impatient as him. Quite a contrast to what he saw now. He looked at her, awaiting a continuation.

"So curious about me?" Margaret grinned jauntily as if it wasn't like she had told about her witnessing her mother's execution only a few moments ago. "Don't even try, I won't tell you! Or maybe later. If you manage to pour enough whisky into me."

Was it just his imagination or did it really sound like an invitation to actually 'pour enough whisky into her'? She called it embarrassing, but it was obvious to Connor that she wanted to tell everything about herself one day. He decided not to ask her about Meggie the Parrot yet, but there was one matter that had too much to do with the present to be left out.

"If I may, I would at least like to ask why you killed your husband."

Margaret straightened her back, staring at one of the candles as she answered: "I definitely didn't kill him because he was a Templar. I had no idea then. As well as he apparently had no idea that I was born into the Assassin Brotherhood. I'll never forget the surprise on his face when I stabbed him with my hidden blades. Which wasn't the plan, since I initially planned to poison him. To make sure that he just didn't wake up the next morning. I mean ..." She halted. "I really liked but never loved him. He was the most precious person for me during the war. You see ... As a disguised woman I had some practical difficulties. I had to be a friend of the doctor in case I got wounded. And I needed an officer who would protect me from being unmasked. Jonathan and I befriended very early, so I decided to reveal him my true identity. Little by little we became lovers ... I don't know what it's like to be an Assassin in war, but being a soldier is kind of stressful. It's only natural that one wishes to have someone close by his side, comfort, tenderness ... Someone who helps to endure that horror. The problem was ..." For a short moment she looked up, directly in Connor's eyes. "The war was the only thing that connected us. When it ended ... well ... our so-called love ended as well. We didn't notice it, though: We got married. And everything was all right, even if a little bit dull. Until he started to change. He was often drunk, aggressive ... You know what I mean. Well, then I got pregnant. I thought everything would be better now, and indeed the waiting for the child seemed to have a positive effect on him. But then ... Miscarriage. In his eyes it was all my fault, and from that moment on he treated me even worse.

"But one does not simply raise his voice to me." She looked up again, yet this time she kept staring in Connor's eyes. Coldly and firmly. There was no doubt what would come next. "Nor raise his fist to me. Not without consequences ..." Her face softened a little and she even made an attempt to smile. "Have you ever attended a Christian wedding, Conny? Did you hear those glorious words? '... till death us do part.' If I didn't want to lose everything I had by divorce - and I had nowhere to go possessing nothing - there was only one way to get rid of this miserable marriage. I'm used to killing after all," she shrugged.

"As I said, I planned to poison him. But before I could cook his last meal we had another fight. I had practised with my hidden blades just before, so I still had them under my sleeves. I kept them secret." She paused, looked at Connor again, then dropped her gaze and bit her lip. "We had a fight, my patience snapped and I stabbed him," she finished.

Connor had listened silently. He hadn't expected such a detailed story. Margaret really was in an even more talkative mood than he had thought. Or perhaps she - the real Margaret - was in a dreadful condition. Her act had been good and deceptive, but there seemed to be things she couldn't hide anymore. This woman actually was still in a state of shock ...

"I ran outside, screaming," Margaret suddenly continued. "Acting as if I had just found his dead body in our kitchen. Playing the desperate loving wife so no one would suspect me." She paused to swallow. "Then his 'friends' visited me. Asked me questions. Examined Jonathan's wounds and realized that they came from hidden blades. If I wouldn't have been raised as an Assassin I probably wouldn't have understood a single thing from their questions and conversations, even with Nathaniel's explanations. But as I knew the context ... They concluded that it must have been you who murdered Jonathan and that they should strike back as soon as possible. So I ..." Her voice was trembling. "I realized that I caused you trouble. At the same time I knew that it would be dangerous to tell you everything. I didn't plan to become your ally, I didn't want to have anything to do with you, with the Assassins in general ... And I was afraid the Templars would suspect me as well and watch me. But I felt that I had to have an eye on you, to help you if necessary ... It was my fault after all. So I decided to make an act and played the first thing that came to my mind.

"I'm sorry, Conny. I really am. For everything. For touching you as well. I've met enough Mohawk people during the war to know that I shouldn't do that."

This was ... a surprise. Margaret suddenly looked exhausted, shattered ... The real Margaret. She apologized. She talked because she couldn't endure everything she had gone through anymore. Because she was ruined.

"You do not have to apologize," he answered. "In the end you even helped me. Thanks to you I know what happened to the other Assassins."

He looked at the figure on the opposite side of the table which looked quite small and miserable with the face buried in her hands and shaky.

"I also have to thank you for the rescue," he continued. "For all your help. You take risks without asking anything in return. Indeed I believe now that you are a much better person than you want me to think. I do not know why you pretend to be harsh, impudent and unfriendly, but I see that this is not how you really are. I do not dare to pity you, for I think that you would not appreciate it. Yet I cannot deny feeling sympathy. After all, your suffering is not completely unknown to me."

She raised her eyes at him.

"I know," she only replied.

For a while they sat wrapped in silence while the evening crept over Boston. The dining room became darker and darker, the candles on the table brighter and brighter. Shadows were moving on Margaret's golden illuminated face while Connor sat motionless with his hands clasped. Thinking. Feeling that meeting Margaret was not a coincidence. That he could help her just as she helped him.

He reached out his hand and took hers.

She looked at it with empty and weary eyes. "I'm sorry for loading all this on you ..."

Connor squeezed her hand.

"No one should be alone with his sorrow," he replied.

"Yet you are."

"You too."

Life flowed back in her gaze and she smiled. A little, sad but warm smile. The first real smile since he met her.

Connor returned it, still holding her hand with freckles on its back.

* * *

To be continued ...


	5. Not an Assassin's Creed

**Chapter 5: Not an Assassin's Creed**

It was dark and silent in the woods near Boston. Connor jumped from branch to branch following the two riders down on the road. One of them was Margaret. The other was Vincent.

Connor and his new ally hadn't discussed their plans properly the evening before. Yet he didn't regret having spent the whole time listening to her story. In the end the atmosphere between them had improved significantly. Indeed they had managed completely without provocation and cold stares since then. The little discussion of plans they actually did have consisted only of suggestions and nodding and was quickly ended with Margaret proclaiming bed time. They had to get up early after all.

Much as Connor would have liked to continue the discussion he was thankful to finally get some sleep. He didn't have had any sleep the day before, since he had apprehended another Templar attack, staying prepared to defend himself and the homestead. After midday the Aquila had set sail for Boston. Connor had planned to put Mr. Faulkner in charge of the ship, hoping to rest at least a little bit while the Aquila was covering the distance between the Davenport settlement and Boston. However, the storm had made resting impossible. So he didn't need to be told twice when Margaret suggested going to bed.

Still, he had slept for only a few hours during the last two days. The fresh air and the concentration on running over the trees kept him awake, but it didn't change anything about the fact that he was human. Nearly each place in the trees and on the ground looked maddeningly comfortable now.

Connor gave his best to concentrate on the plan: Margaret was led by Vincent to the meeting point while Connor followed silently. Once they reached their destination they would kill the Templars so that Margaret would have the trust of Nathaniel in order to draw more information from him. And besides, it was clearing Boston from Templar influence after all. When finished they would take the Aquila to New York.

Yet to be honest, Connor still felt outraged about Nathaniel wanting his fellow Templars dead. But he didn't have had the opportunity to express his emotion the other day, so he kept his feelings and thoughts to himself. He would ask Margaret about her opinion later. Until then ... He wondered if Nathaniel was planning something bigger.

"Will we be there soon?" Margaret sighed down on the road.

"Aye ... It isn't far away," Vincent answered.

"It's quite a while since we left the town. May I ask something?"

Margaret. She wasn't sleepy at all doing her job bravely.

"Didn't Nathaniel answer all of your questions?"

"Well, this particular question didn't come to my mind until now ..."

"Then ask. You're going to become a member after all."

Margaret paused, then asked right away: "Why do you hold the other Assassins captive? Why don't you just kill them?"

Connor pricked up his ears. Finally! Finally she asked what mattered most!

"Because we have to kill their leader," Vincent said. "Grand Master Greencog instructed us to wipe them out so that our order can become strong again without interference. But since we're weak at the moment we can't risk a direct war. So we lured the Assassins into traps one by one, using their ignorance of the threat from our side as an advantage. We will kill them once the half-breed bastard is down. Greencog insisted that we shouldn't underestimate him, and having the others captured makes him vulnerable. We can extort him if we find a way to communicate with him. As you already know, he disappeared after killing Magnus Frank and his men. On the other hand, if we kill the other Assassins his wrath will be boundless. He'll start slaughtering us just like ... You heard how he killed Charles Lee? Both of them badly injured, only half alive, he could hardly walk and was still chasing Lee. One doesn't want to be the ultimate hate target of such a beast."

Oh yeah ... Should the Templars lay a finger on his Assassin brothers Connor would hunt down the whole Order all by himself. At least the fact that he was free guaranteed the survival of the others. For the moment.

"So you're afraid," Margaret concluded.

"I can't deny it," Vincent said. "Personally I joined the Order only three years ago, so I hadn't much business with him yet. But I've heard stories. Frightening enough. That savage is quite a madman."

Connor already knew how afraid the Templars were. He remembered how scrupulously Frank and his men had tied him to the chair back then in the Manor. Margaret had suggested considering it a compliment. Connor, however, came now to the conclusion that he didn't like this kind of compliments. In general, it may be good if enemies are afraid, but it only reminded him of who he was and the fact that he would never have a normal life. It still hurt.

The little procession beneath him came to an abrupt end. Vincent and Margaret dismounted their horses, leaving them bound to a tree trunk as they left the road and made their way through the thicket. Connor followed them, silently balancing on the branches.

"You could have warned me," he heard Margaret grumbling. "Dresses aren't made for wilderness."

Vincent didn't answer, going on ahead, but very soon he stopped. "We're there," he said.

There, in the darkness between tall trees, was the golden shine of a lantern. Two shapes were flickering behind it. Connor found a branch directly above them and decided that it would be a nice point to start an attack. He watched Margaret heading towards the lantern as he took up position there.

"So early in the morning and in this damn forest - and only for a ritual!" snorted one of the two waiting men.

"Not only for a ritual," Vincent replied. "Nathaniel has told me he gave Mrs. Taylor some instructions. She's going to announce them to us. Since they're top secret a meeting in town where the Assassin might have spies would've been too much of a risk."

"Why her? She's not even a member yet!"

"You'll understand when I tell you," Margaret said, sounding strangely cheerful.

Vincent looked at her frowning. "So shall we start with the ritual or do you want to tell us first?"

Margaret shrugged. "It depends on whether you prefer to die now or a little bit later."

Connor almost fell from his branch. Had she seriously said that? What was so difficult about just attacking them? They had agreed that Margaret would start the attack the moment she would consider it suitable, but now Connor regretted having entrusted her with this task.

The Templars, however, didn't look even as half as frightened as they should. There was more confusion than anything else.

"Are you kidding?" the man holding the lantern said.

Margaret gave him a brief look.

"No."

A shifting noise, a short flash, and Vincent gargled as a dark liquid poured out of his mouth.

Charles and William didn't have any time to react. They died exactly the next moment as Connor leapt from his branch, killing both with his hidden blades.

"That was it?" Margaret said wiping her hidden blades clean on Vincent's jacket. "Quick and easy. I'm disappointed."

"It was not necessary to play with them," Connor said, drawing himself up to his full height.

Margaret stood up, looking at him impassively. "Sorry. Bad habit. Shall we go back now? You can take Vincent's horse."

Connor's gaze remained frosty. There would definitely be a discussion about it. Later. When place and time were more appropriate.

* * *

The captain's cabin of the Aquila was rocking quietly as he opened his eyes. He was lying on his narrow cot, still completely dressed except for his coat which he found hanging on a hook next to the door. It was odd. He remembered returning from his last assassination in such a state of fatigue that it had hindered him in interaction with other people. He had only managed to give the order to set sail for New York and to retreat into his cabin, hastily pulling off his coat, throwing away his weapons and falling in his bed as if hit by a bullet. Now he noticed that someone not only had put his coat on a hook but also had placed his weapons neatly on his desk, apparently in a careful attempt not to put them in the wrong place where it would be difficult for him to find them. This someone had also put a blanket over him. On the desk a late breakfast was awaiting him, offering the luxury of bread, cheese and fresh fruits and vegetables since the Aquila had left the last harbour only a few hours ago.

Connor couldn't help but feel a little strange about this obvious signs of someone caring for him. He wasn't used to it. The last time someone did such things for him was actually many years ago when his mother was still alive.

Before this memory had the opportunity to become painful he stood up and walked to his desk. He was starving - so much that his stomach hurt. He swallowed up everything eatable he found on the plate almost without chewing it.

"It's right to be so hungry," said a very familiar rough voice. "You're a tall, strong man. Your muscles need to be fed well."

Margaret had entered his cabin silently and without knocking.

"I'm sorry for surprising you like this," she smiled. "I thought you were still asleep and didn't want to wake you up."

Connor nodded in forgiveness. After all, the Aquila was a small ship without cabins for guests, and forcing a woman to stay in the crew accommodation wasn't anything Connor would ever do, even though Margaret had insisted upon that she had been sleeping side by side with much more men during the war. Yet she had been disguised back then, and as much as Connor trusted his crew as well he was aware that his men didn't meet women as often as some of them liked to. So for the time being Margaret had no other place but the captain's cabin to stay and to store the bundle she had picked up at home on their way to the docks. With the unbeatable argument "You're a gentleman, right?" she had forced Connor to carry it, and now it had found a place on a chair standing on the left side of the cabin. It looked like it had been opened and closed again, and Margaret's brown dress hung over the back of the chair. She had on more practical clothes now: a white shirt, a light blue vest, trousers in a darker blue and black over-the-knee boots.

For a short moment Connor found that men's clothes suited her much better than a woman's dress. She looked more feminine wearing them whereas dresses made her look like a cross-dressed man - maybe because of her habit to ram the ground with her feet while walking. However, these thoughts vanished with advancing awakening as he remembered what had happened in the woods. He had slept well and felt strong enough for a serious discussion.

"So you enjoy killing?" he asked promptly.

Margaret only raised her brows. "What makes you think that?"

Propping himself up on the table, he slowly arose against her. "Instead of just killing the Templars you played with them, later even telling that you were _disappointed_! We took lives of living beings, and you are _disappointed_?!" His voice crescendoed. "We do not kill for entertainment! Killing is wrong!"

"Says the Assassin who killed countless guards and soldiers whose only sin was to stand between him and a Templar," Margaret answered with an unperturbed expression. "They had a life. They had families. They were sons, brothers and fathers. Other people probably depended on them. They had their dreams and plans for future. They weren't your enemies. They only fulfilled their duty. But you killed them. You killed the dreams and future. Does it really matter if the killer enjoys killing or not? Death is death. In the end it makes no difference. Or do you intend to pay back the losses to their families?"

Yes. Margaret definitely knew what so say. Connor clenched his teeth.

"Their deaths were necessary and inevitable," he barked, desperately trying to stay calm, "and this is a sad fact. We should always remember this. For this is what makes us different."

Margaret gazed coolly in his eye. "Different from whom? From Templars? Common criminals? Face the truth, Connor: The Assassin's Creed is a lie. You kill people. Who gives you the right to decide whose death is necessary and inevitable und whose not? To decide who is innocent and who is guilty? Who are you to decide such things? A god? No. You're a common mortal, and this means: nothing."

"I believe in what I see." Connor leaned forward, piercing Margaret with his stare. "When I see injustice, I do what is necessary to put an end to it."

"There is no injustice in this world," Margaret answered, still much more calm than him. "As well as there isn't, never was and never will be justice. It's an illusion, created by idealists like you. The only thing that is really there is the desire to live and survive. Everyone is just living and surviving as well as he can. And he's right to do so. He has his own way of life. It doesn't make him guilty."

"If he suppresses and harms others it does."

Margaret smiled. "Templars seek domination for a higher goal. Assassins kill for a higher goal. What makes your goal higher than theirs?"

"The fact that my goal is freedom. Everyone should live as he chooses."

"Don't make me laugh, Conny. There is no such thing as freedom. As long as there are at least two humans in this world, someone will always be in the way of someone else. There always was and always will be a conflict. Someone will always seek domination to achieve his goals. And if you kill this someone - then what? When we're not suppressed from the outside we become slaves to ourselves. To our own wishes and desires. To our stomachs. To our feelings. Indeed, we don't even need suppression from above. Everyone is his own warder already. What you fight is an illusion. Windmills."

Connor kept staring in her eyes. He knew that there was truth in her words, for the Revolution didn't ban injustice and suppression. It only changed their appearance. He knew it. He had seen it.

"So shall we do nothing then?" he asked with a sudden thrust of confidence. "Shall we just lie down and accept humiliation and violence? What are we living for then? A life for nothing is not worth living."

Margaret gave him a bitter laugh. "This is exactly why I like you but never will seriously try to come closer to you. Even if there was a chance for me - I don't want to become a widow for the third time. If you choose to fight what you consider evil - just do it! If this is your way of life, then it is your right to live like this. But never call your way of life better than that of others."

She paused, taking a deep breath. "To say that I don't enjoy killing would be a lie. To say that I _do _enjoy it would be a lie as well. I'm simply used to it, and what you saw this morning is, just as I said, an old habit. The Parrot likes to talk to people before killing them, to see their reaction. The Parrot enjoys the experiment, the challenge, and, I won't deny it, the feeling of power. The feeling of significance. For the Parrot always knew that she's an insignificant, little girl who is a slave to her monstrous desire for revenge. The Parrot denies common morality. She considers it an illusion. She has her own understanding of 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted.'"

Margaret paused again, standing straight and motionless in front of Connor, forcefully maintaining eye contact with him. Then she spoke:

"There is no truth, no good or evil, no innocence and no guilt. All of them are merely illusions. There is also neither freedom nor real suppression. In the first place, we are slaves to ourselves, and our only real liberty is to choose the cage to lock ourselves in, to choose our own path through life, no matter whether it is helping or killing others. Or putting it positively: There are no bonds except for those we choose ourselves. We are prisoners by nature, shaped by our life experience and desires, but, in a way, we are free to think and to act as we please. So I do as I please to serve no one. I am the Parrot. This is my creed."

A long silence followed. No one moved, no one seemed to even breathe. Connor felt his anger subsiding, realizing that he couldn't change anything about her views which were determined by her past, just as his own beliefs had grown from his life experience. He couldn't change her life, so he couldn't change her denial of morality. But if everyone stopped to believe in the good it would cease to exist.

"At least this is not what a Templar would say," he finally broke the silence. "This means I can trust you."

Margaret nodded with a tired smile and leaned against his desk. "I see the world just as the Templars do. It's not a beautiful place. It's a cloaca. But while the Templars try to change it, I believe that I don't have the right and power to do so. Templar rule wouldn't make the world a better place. A cloaca is a cloaca, and it will stay a cloaca even if you force people to shit in a way you consider it right."

Suddenly a bitter laugh escaped her lips. "So you see, in a way I'm still closer to the Assassins than to the Templar Order. Everyone has the right to choose his own way of life. Even if this choice is determined by private desires which can be highly immoral in a common sense."

Of course, Connor couldn't agree with the last sentence. He couldn't agree with many things Margaret said. Or he rather didn't want to. But at least their views seemed to actually share a kind of a common ground. He decided that he could live with the contradictions for now. He didn't have another option after all, since he still needed her help.

What he couldn't live with was her accusation against him. She had explained her disappointment with apathy towards killing and the joy of challenge and experimenting with people. A form of sadism actually. Something she couldn't help, however, considering the fact that her life apparently had been very violent. There was a reason why Achilles had encouraged him to regret killing. The danger of apathy was always present to someone living in violence. But Connor wasn't infected by it, and he felt forced to explain himself as well.

"I listened to your defence, and now I would like to defend myself," he said. "I consider killing wrong, even when it is necessary." He paused, putting his fingers to his head. "When we first met you asked me what I did to my hair. I will explain." He sighed, wondering where to begin. "My people believe that hair is a connection to our Creator. Men should live in peace, but sometimes it is necessary to go to war. To kill. Since killing other living beings is wrong one has to cut his connection to the Creator. So someone removing his hair admits to live in a wrong way. It means insanity. Madness. The strip remaining is supposed to help finding one's way back to a good life. When the killing is over the hair is grown back. But my war has no end, so my connection will remain cut."

"You're a good person, Conny," Margaret said with a sad smile. "And it's a pity that you throw your life away. That you sacrifice it." She paused, looking around the room, then staring into space, remembering something. "I don't lie when it's not necessary. So nearly everything I said, even when acting, is true. When I say that your cheekbones are cute I actually mean it. When I say that looking as good as you should be forbidden because it's distracting I mean it as well. And when I find it adorable that you're a virgin I see your virginity as an evidence of responsibility, discipline and a serious view of the world. That you're courageous and determined is self-evident. It's a shame that someone like you lives the life of an outsider."

Somehow ... Her tongue really was her primary weapon. She could say something disgusting and then turn it into something ... _What _was said had indeed little importance. What mattered was _how _it was said. And Connor couldn't suppress a little smile.

"I accept your complements," he answered. "But I am not an outsider. I have friends in my settlement and the Brotherhood."

"Yet you still feel lonely. You can say what you want - it doesn't change anything about the fact that you actually _have _lost what you believed in. Your connection is cut. You have lost _yourself_. But you're a strong person, and you'll find a new path. A compromise between your ideals and reality."

She really knew what to say. She knew his weak spots. She knew where to strike and what to say to make him feel better. Should he tell her that he already found a new path? That everything he did now was following it? That he knew how painful this path was going to be? That ... this path felt like a slow suicide sometimes? Probably she intuited it already. Somehow Margaret had full insight in his inner life, and this made her dangerous in her own way.

It was as if their argument never happened. It were Margaret's words, it was her voice. It was the way she was looking at him. The careful way she patted his shoulder.

"I'll leave you alone now. I think both of us need a little time for ourselves."

Connor looked up at her. In her face full of freckles. Nodded. Patted her shoulder as well.

And felt once again why touching had such an importance among the Colonists. While touching strangers was a taboo among the Mohawk for the settlers it was a gesture of creating a bond. A promise.

A promise of cheekbones and freckles in their case.

* * *

Margaret was sitting on the railing, looking to the east, as he stepped out of his cabin. The sun was shining bright, and it was calm and windless. He had put on his captain's uniform, intending to take over the wheel. But before that he needed to talk to her once more.

"Margaret?"

She turned her green eyes in his direction and gave him a smile. "Meggie. Just Meggie. I'm not used to be called Margaret."

He nodded. "If it is your wish, I will call you Meggie."

"So what did you want to say?"

"For one thing that you should be careful when sitting on the railing."

He didn't know himself why he said this. Meggie surely knew about the dangers of the sea. But for some reason his warning had made her smile wider and her cheeks rosier.

"And for another thing?" she asked as she jumped off the railing.

"For another thing I would like to ask you what you think about Nathaniel's order to kill his fellow Templars."

Margaret frowned. "It's a gambit," she said, looking thoughtfully at the sea again. "Did you ever play chess? A gambit means to sacrifice a smaller figure in order to gain a better strategic position. Nathaniel thinks that at least one of them was the traitor, so by killing all three he can be sure that he eliminated the threat. Now he can tell Greencog that he solved the problem, so that he didn't fail so much in the end. Yet it's never so simple with him. Nathaniel has made a quick military career by means of strategic talent. There's always something bigger behind his actions. And he worked hard to become what he is. He's very proud of himself. So he won't give up everything to bow before a brewer."

"He seemed desperate to me," Connor said as he stood next to her, looking at the sea as well. "He said that many Templars were spoiled, and that he wanted to restore the Order. He believes you will help him."

"So you, too, think that ..."

Their eyes met, and he saw all the colour draining from her face.

"Conny, we definitely shouldn't miss his encounter with Greencog," she said, turning her gaze back to the sea. "It promises to be quite interesting."

* * *

To be continued ...

My dear readers, we made it! We conquered the first third of this fanfic. Thanks, tack, 謝謝, спасибо, danke, děkuji, merci, gracias and obrigado to everyone who read this story til chapter 4. Special thanks to my followers and especially to The Whispered Shadows for all the encouraging reviews! I'm really glad there are a few people interested in this story. :) I hope you like the new chapter!

A short comment on Connor's explanation of his hairstyle: I'm not entirely sure whether it's correct or not (since I'm not Mohawk), but it's the best explanation I found after months of research. To be honest, this research wasn't easy, partly because Connor's haircut is historically wrong in the game. I don't think that Ubisoft cared much for the exact meaning of the haircut; most likely, they just wanted to remind the player of Connor's origin.


	6. Charlemagne, Parasites and Monkeys

**Chapter 6: Charlemagne, Parasites and Monkeys**

Connor couldn't deny that he was coming to Meggie's defence against himself. Of course it might be the last year, the realization that everything his father had said about the weakness of humanity was true. He had to admit that Meggie's views were logical and based on life experience. That her conclusions made sense. But they still sounded wrong. Connor had a hard time not to think about her denial of morality which legitimated all kinds of crime. Yet he had to ignore it. He had to get on well with her, and apart from that he saw that she actually tried to be more likeable towards him. She had stopped provoking him and had given up her attempts to take command. She adhered to the promise of cheekbones and freckles.

However, she still wore a mask. During their journey to New York she seemed to be constantly in a good mood, smiling and teasing everyone, but as Connor knew a part of her inside he could see how unnatural it was. She had gone through much violence, death and murder, she had lost those whom she loved, she had killed her own husband just recently, and now she had turned against a close friend. She spent much time staring motionlessly at the horizon with her face pale and tired, quite frightening even in its lack of expression. It was pretty obvious to him that she still felt ruined.

"I've always wanted to see Venice," she suddenly had said to him once when he joined her in staring at the sea. "Did you hear about it? It's a city built on water with channels instead of streets. I was dreaming of visiting it ever since I was told about it. But I was brought here instead. To the other side of the world. For my mother life in England was hell, of course, but for me ... I cared little for what was said back then. I didn't know what a slut was. I only knew the peaceful hills of the Yorkshire Dales and the beauty of Scotland and Edinburgh where my grandfather lived. The Edinburgh Castle is very impressive in its majesty, sitting like a crown on the Castle Rock. Later, having learned about the true nature of the Brotherhood I was born into and the war against the Templars, it became my dream to climb the cliff and the Castle and to commit a Templar assassination there. I also wanted to see the so-called Venice of the North, Stockholm, the city my grandmother was from. As well as many other places. I never asked for being brought here to the ass of the world. Please don't take it as an insult. I really like the beauty of the land here, but it still feels alien to me. And the people here are ... Well, it's the edge of civilization. More of a wilderness than civilization indeed. The architecture is lame, historical places where all the legendary people walked - none. To me all this feels empty. Nothing compared to Rome, the heart of an ancient empire, and to Aachen where Charlemagne was crowned almost thousand years ago. The chance to see all this wonders was taken from me. One does not simply risk his life in an attempt to cross the ocean just for fun, to visit nice cities." She sighed. "However, I know, of course, that I know Europe only from tales and books. All I saw myself was only North England and Scotland. It's such a shame not to know one's own homeland. Sometimes I wonder why I'm still here where nothing's left for me anymore. The old Brotherhood I was part of is destroyed, I've lost my family thrice and my friends either died during the war or turned out to be Templars. Perhaps I'm just helping you because I don't know where to go instead."

Connor hadn't known what to answer, and he didn't know it now. He didn't know much about the places she was talking about. He had heard about some of them earlier, but they've never been part of his life. For him Venice, Rome and everything else felt just like fairytales. He understood, however, her feeling. She was missing a life she never had, a lost home, facing a present of loss and destruction. Maybe it would be indeed better for her to leave for Europe and to seek her lost self there. But somehow Connor didn't like the idea. He had learned what it was like to visit 'home' after many years. What it was like to become alien to one's own people, to be mistrusted by a childhood friend. Visiting Europe could turn out in a disappointment which would destroy the last of what was left of her.

The Aquila had landed in New York, and he was waiting for Meggie to go on investigation. He had been told earlier that women always need much time to get ready, and now he had to admit that there might be some truth in it. He was waiting for quite a while by now with a still not too happy Robert Faulkner next to him mumbling something about women on ships and bad luck once again. Both were staring impatiently at the door of the captain's cabin. Just what was she doing in there?

"Do you have any idea of how to find the Templars, captain?" The first mate suddenly asked.

"We will ask our contacts for help," Connor answered. "Nathaniel Cross is a lieutenant colonel, so his arrival will not be completely unnoticed, even if he chose to travel incognito. As for Greencog, he is not incognito, as far as we know, so finding him should not be too difficult. Benjamin Tallmadge used to organize a spy circle during the war. I am sure he can help us."

"Even he will need some time to find them. Shall I let the crew go on land, sir?"

"Yes. Let the men have some rest. But do not let them go too far away, and no beer, rum or anything else. And I would ask you to stay on board."

"Aye," Robert Faulkner nodded, then abruptly looked to a figure heading towards them: "What's that?!"

Connor followed his gaze and realized why Meggie used to be called a Parrot: She had on an Assassin robe not unlike his own - only that it was green with bright orange hood and cuffs, and under it she wore her blue vest and trousers and the black over-the-knee boots which looked a bit thicker now. Around her waist there was a scarf in a dark blue - instead of red, the traditional Assassin colour - with two pistols and a considerable amount of throwing knives attached to the broad belt, with even more throwing knives stored under her coat, a sword on her left side and a dagger on her back. So on the whole she made the impression of an odd person with too many weapons, crazy and deadly at the same time, and not caring much about staying unnoticed which heavily contradicted the Assassin ways. However, he still found that wearing trousers made her look better. Dresses revealed the years of combat experience and pretending to be a man while men's clothes emphasized her feminine features. For example, she had really nice thighs ...

"I'm very sorry for being late," she chirped. "I maintained my second pair of hidden blades regularly, but they got jammed nevertheless."

Connor frowned. "Second pair of hidden blades ..?"

Meggie smiled proudly, raised her right knee and let a hidden blade snap out from the shin pad around her boot.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" she cheered. "These blades belonged to my mother, and I modified them. They are pretty useless, though, since I need my legs to stand on them. But the blades still make an impression." She lowered her knee again and raised her arms instead. "My mother's blades were made here in the colonies. These, however, were presented to me as a family heirloom. You may have noticed that they are longer than yours. That's because it's an old European design. They belonged to my grandmother who was the Mentor of the Swedish Brotherhood until she was run over by a carriage in London."

"Wait a minute ..." Mr. Faulkner suddenly interrupted her. "Does it mean that you're the daughter of Emma Collins or ... I don't remember her husband's surname."

"Henderson," Meggie said. "And yes, I'm her daughter. So you finally recognized me. It's actually not the first time that I'm on board of the Aquila."

"You changed," Mr. Faulkner shrugged, looking closer at her. "Didn't know you were running around with an Assassin hood and hidden blades ..."

"That's because you were too busy with rum," Meggie grumbled. "You probably don't even remember how I begged you to repair the Aquila. 'Makes no sense anymore,' you said. Of course no one believes a girl when she wants to take action. Achilles mourned over his wife and son, and you mourned over your boat. The Assassin Brotherhood has deserted me." She crossed her arms.

Connor frowned again. So she had tried to restore the Brotherhood? For the sake of revenge? And even after failing in doing so and abandoning Assassin ideals she didn't mind wearing Assassin robes and having the symbol of the Brotherhood embellishing her belt.

"The Assassin Brotherhood didn't exist anymore, and the defeat was still fresh," Robert Faulkner answered, patting Meggie's shoulder. Then he tried to smile. "But it's nice to see you again. Your mother was a good Assassin."

Meggie only nodded.

* * *

Litchfield, Connecticut. These two words had been enough to destroy all of Connor's plans and hopes. Benjamin Tallmadge had left New York City and lived in Litchfield now. This was what one of his former neighbours had told Connor. Benjamin had moved without telling him a single word. Probably he had been too busy to send Connor a note, and since the war was over, there hadn't been much need for contact. So Connor wasn't angry with him. He was only disappointed - in the first place by himself, for he had relied on his expectation to find Benjamin in New York far too much. How was he supposed to find the Templars in this big city now? He didn't have many contacts here anymore. His Assassins were captured, Benjamin had moved to Litchfield ...

There were still three Sons of Liberty, though. Isaac Sears was active in anti-Loyalist politics, Alexander McDougall was a state senator, and John Lamb had the post of the Collector of the Port of New York. The problem was that Connor didn't know if they really had the possibility to help him finding Nathaniel and Greencog as quickly as he needed it. If one of them was able to help, then most likely it would be John Lamb, since he had to deal with import affairs and with it, well, the harbour and the ships.

Connor's fragile hope to save his friends began to flare again. Of course! Why didn't he think about John Lamb earlier? He didn't know him personally, but he was sure that Lamb had heard about him from the other Sons of Liberty, so he certainly would help ...

Yet this new plan created another mission: He had to find Lamb. Luckily this wouldn't be difficult. After the disappointment of not finding Benjamin Connor had been walking back towards the harbour - and now he guessed that the harbourmaster was the best person to ask about Lamb's current location.

Then the scales fell from his eyes, and he stopped and slapped himself on the forehead. Asking the harbourmaster directly about today's ship arrivals from Boston was a too obvious and easy solution to be thought of. When did he become so muddle-headed? He had been so busy with philosophizing lately that his mind apparently refused to think about the here and now in the meantime - especially during the past few days. This was not least thanks to Meggie. She had occupied his mind with her dark worldview, just as she had occupied his house, his ship, his past and his mission. Like a parasite, clinging to someone else to survive. '... Because I don't know where to go instead.' - She had admitted it herself.

Connor sighed and was glad to have a little Meggie-free time now. Not that he disliked her company ... But it was difficult, tiring ... burdensome. Not easy to endure when one had burdens of one's own.

The rest and the new hope had put him in a good mood, so he walked towards the harbourmaster quite liltingly and built himself up in front of him with his hands folded.

"How can I help you, sir?" the harbourmaster asked.

"I need information about today's ship arrivals from Boston," Connor replied. "Can you provide it?"

"I ..." the harbourmaster hesitated. "I'm not sure if ..."

Connor just kept looking at him, waiting. The harbourmaster dropped his gaze, began to shrink, and a clumsy smile fluttered over his lips.

"Well, I can see what I can do ..." he mumbled, turning to a large book on his table. "There were three ships until now ... The first came early in the morning and has left already. The second landed two hours ago," here Connor nodded, for the second ship was the Aquila, "and the third arrived only half an hour ago. Had an important passenger on it ... At least the captain treated him with much respect."

Connor clawed the edge of the table. "What was his name?"

"I've no idea, sir."

"What did he look like?"

"Oh well ..." The harbourmaster scratched his head. "Tall, blonde ... I'm afraid I didn't see much from the distance ..."

It was Nathaniel. It had to be him! Connor's fingers seemed to be very determined about crushing the tabletop.

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know, sir. Actually, that's no concern of mine ... But if it's any help to you ... His ship was the Ophelia. Over there ..." He pointed to his left. "The third one."

"Thank you very much," Connor said to the harbourmaster politely, giving him a short nod and forcing his fingers to release the poor, pitiable tabletop.

So Nathaniel's ship had arrived after the Aquila. No surprise that Mr. Faulkner celebrated her as the fastest ship of the Atlantic. Connor was almost running as he headed back to her, eager to share the news with Meggie who hopefully would return soon as well.

Fortunately the Parrot was already there, waiting for him. She sat on a barrel and browsed a book. Another volume was lying on her lap.

"Look what I've bought!" she exclaimed as he approached. "French fairytales and 'Robinson Crusoe'!"

Connor froze in front of her. "I thought you were going to look for your contacts?"

"Oh, I was," she replied, shrugging. "I even dressed like back in those glorious days, since I wasn't sure if they would recognize me if I weren't the Parrot. The guards were so suspicious - I took such a risk! And what do you think happened? Those criminal masterminds who used to run the black markets before the war had lived a life of their own during all these years, some of them died, others are busy with other things now ... All in all, there won't be any help from their side. But look! 'Robinson Crusoe'! That's so nostalgic! I've read it when I was sixteen, but then my book got lost. So when I came back here and saw that you still didn't return I just went into a shop and -"

"Meanwhile I have obtained information," Connor interrupted her, putting on a cold stare. "Benjamin Tallmadge lives in Litchfield now, so he will not help us. Yet I talked to the harbourmaster and found out that Nathaniel Cross arrived here about half an hour ago."

"And how is this information going to help us?" Meggie had her unimpressed face on again.

"Only little time has passed," Connor explained, almost offended by her lack of interest. In a way, one could even say that he was kind of jealous of this Robinson Crusoe. "This means," he continued, "that we did not miss anything important yet. Moreover, we can question the captain of his ship -"

"So he can warn Nathaniel that two hooded lunatics are looking for him?"

"He will not say a word if I tell him."

"Conny ..." Meggie finally laid her book aside. "I appreciate that you are aware of the impressiveness of your muscles, but I'd prefer to make new friends like every well-bred Assassin would do. Of course, questioning or rather watching and eavesdropping the captain makes sense, yet I have a plan as well, a very good one actually, and for the next hour I'll need your most innocent and charming expression. Here's an inn nearby. The Black Horse Tavern. Do you know it? The innkeeper is an old friend of mine. And besides, ale helps to make friends very much."

"I never worked this way," Connor replied with a resigned sigh. After all, he could wait a little with taking care of the captain.

"Then it's about time!" A smile spread on Meggie's face. "Personally I can't wait to have an ale with you!"

* * *

Connor ignored the steady stream of words penetrating his ears. Meggie was definitely too happy about her books and had too much fun remembering all the adventures of Robinson Crusoe, including someone called Friday and lots of cannibals. Probably Connor would have even been interested if it were the right moment.

"Initially I wanted to buy 'Don Quixote', by the way," she suddenly changed the topic. "But then I remembered that I have my own." She gave Connor a pat on his shoulder, and, seeing his bewilderment, explained: "It's about a madman who imagines himself being a knight and heads out into the world to fight giants and evil wizards. He regains his sanity in the end, but, well, this sanity goes hand in hand with death. What shall we live for if there's nothing to drive us? If there are no visions? To accept the world as it is might be sane, but it means death - at least an inner one. The Templars are undead. They see the world as it is, but they refuse to die. Instead they act like all undead beings do: They try to suck the life of the living. So you see: I'm not stubborn. I thought much about what you said to me. 'A life for nothing is not worth living.' You might be right. So will you accept me as your Sancho? Will I get a donkey?"

Connor still looked at her in confusion. Of course, it was pleasant to hear that she had started to think more positively about his views after attacking them so brutally, but what did the Templars have to do with donkeys?!

"Never mind," Meggie laughed, apparently very amused by his expression. "We're there."

They stood in front of a wide wooden door with the street to their right and the docks and the sea directly to their left. A swinging sign had a black horse on it. Meggie pushed - or rather kicked - the door open without any hesitation.

"_Guten Tag, Johann!_" she exclaimed inside, widely grinning towards the counter.

Connor entered after her and was surprised how well-frequented this tavern was in the middle of the day. So close by the harbour it seemed to be perfectly located with all the sailors visiting it. He remembered it at once. He accidentally met Dobby and Stephane here sometime during the Revolutionary War. He sighed, hoping that they were well. He was going to rescue them ... They only had to hang in there!

"Not you again!" cried a plump man behind the counter, pointing at Meggie. "I zought you'd never show up again! I hoped!" He clasped his hands like in prayer and looked up. "_Gütiger Himmel, warum?!_ Ze guards searched my tavern zree times and confiscated half of ze goods! All because of you!"

Meggie gave him an unimpressed shrug. "It's not my fault that you participated in smuggling affairs then. And you could show a little more politeness. I want to introduce to you an important friend of mine."

Johann's angry stare immediately switched to Connor. "Anozer one! Where do you hooded bastards all come from?"

"From the Hooded Kingdom of Bastardia," Margaret grumbled, approaching the innkeeper and dragging Connor with her.

"And he's a savage!"

"Wrong, my dear Johann. I am the savage. He's the civilized one."

Connor couldn't deny feeling a little out of place in this strange conversation. Meggie had promised 'a friend', but apparently she had slightly exaggerated.

"Conny ..." Before Connor had the opportunity to escape Meggie had grabbed his arm. "May I introduce to you: Johann Wolfram Meisser. Johann, this is Connor. Please be nice to him. You don't want him to be your enemy. Really."

What a nice, convincing and not at all threatening introduction ... Connor sighed once again. Yet suddenly something else drew his attention: They were stared at by almost everyone in the inn, and a man had just slipped through the door. Quite hastily ... Connor sensed complications to come. Or did Meggie ...

"Holy shit!" Meggie's exclamation interrupted his thoughts. "Is that Walburga? Congratulations, Johann, your daughter has become a very pretty young woman!"

Connor followed her gaze and saw a young girl at work: Perfectly wielding her well-filled cleavage and her golden curls she persuaded a group about to leave to order another beer and fluttered towards the counter. Her arms were snow-white, and her cheeks had a healthy, rosy colour. Considering her way with customers and the fact that she didn't seem to be a 'friend' of Meggie's she probably was the better person to talk to than her father. Moreover, she gave him a short gaze from the corner of her eye and smiled as she passed by, so she made quite a promising impression as a possible ally.

"Excuse me," he said politely as he stepped towards her. "You must be Walp- ... Wulbur-" Such a strange name ... Sometimes the Colonists happened to have such unpronounceable names. At least when they were definitely not of English origin, and Meggie actually had pronounced this name in an inimitable German way.

The girl beamed at him, and the rosiness of her cheeks became a bit reddish.

"Walburga," she corrected. "But everyone calls me Valley."

Connor nodded, being thankful for the possibility to use a nickname. "It is nice to meet you, Valley. My name is Connor."

"Nice to meet you too, Connor!" The reddishness in her face slowly became a deep, dark red as her gaze slid along his chest and arms. "How can I help you? Would you like a drink? Or anything else?"

For some reason Connor didn't like the way how she stressed 'anything else' ... Was it really a good idea to talk to her?

"I was wondering if you could help me," he said, trying not to stare at the corner of her mouth. Was she ... drooling?

He was also alarmed by the way how she leaned forward, displaying her shiny white bosom and lowering her voice. "It depends ..."

"I ..." Should he really ask her? "I am looking for a man called Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Cross. His ship, the Ophelia, has landed not long ago, and I am certain some of the sailors will come here to rest. Seeing how capably you deal with your customers, I would be very grateful if you could find out any information about him and a certain Greencog for me."

The reddish shade on her face froze in disappointment, but at the same time her eyes started to twinkle adventurously.

"Sounds like it's feasible," she replied. "All right. I will help you. And you want to keep all this secret, don't you? I know you shady people, and I won't say a word. But my services need to be paid for."

Connor had been apprehensive of this.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know yet ..." Valley said, wrapping a golden curl around her forefinger and indicating that she definitely knew what she wanted. "I will tell you when everything is done."

"Thank you," Connor nodded and sighed with relief as she finally turned her eyes away from his muscular shoulders to serve a group of newcomers.

"I wonder how you're going to pay," Meggie said with an amused grin, leaning next to him against the counter. "She was undressing you with her gazes ever since we entered."

Connor didn't answer and tried not to even think about it. Why did he have to ask Valley? He had seen her reactions after all! But ask her to forget about their agreement now ..?

Before he could continue his self-torture the wide wooden door was flung open, and four men entered: Three city guards, one of them an officer, and the man who had hastily left the inn some time ago.

"So it's true ..." the officer whispered.

For some reason a victorious expression spread on Meggie's face. So she really had intended to draw the attention of the guards through her conversation with Johann. But did she in all seriousness plan to befriend with them? Connor slowly clasped his Tomahawk. Just in case.

"Smitty!" Meggie cried, stretching out her arms. "How long has it been since we last met? You tried to arrest me after I shot a man in a street, remember? Oh, those glorious days! How are you? How's Magda? Do you have children?"

So it was another 'friend' of hers ... How much more were there?!

'Smitty' gave Meggie an ice-cold stare, commanding: "Arrest her!"

Apparently Connor wasn't considered a problem. In fact, he was completely ignored. Why was everyone ignoring him today?! Everyone except for Valley, of course ... He stepped closer to Meggie, holding his Tomahawk tighter.

Yet his help wasn't required. The two guards behind 'Smitty' had scarcely moved when a throwing knife got stuck in the wooden floor right in front of each of them.

"Smitty, please," Meggie grumbled. "You know me. Don't waste the lives of these cute, innocent boys. Let's have a beer instead! You there!" She pointed with her left hand at Valley. "Three beer! Quick!"

'You there' nodded and disappeared in an adjoining room while Meggie grabbed the arms of Connor and 'Smitty' and dragged them to a free table. The two guards were left by the door together with their bewilderment. The many gazes that had turned to Meggie again as 'Smitty' entered returned to their own plates and bottles.

"What do you want from me?" 'Smitty' growled as he was pushed on a chair.

"To begin with, that you're nicer to me," Meggie replied. "We're friends after all. I've spared your life five times, my dear Mr. John Smith."

"You destroyed my career."

"It wasn't me. You were unfortunate. That's all."

Before Smith could answer Connor decided that he didn't want to be ignored anymore and interrupted their merry conversation: "We are not here to argue."

"I second that!" Smith said, suddenly turning to Connor. "I should just call for reinforcements and bring her to court where she belongs. How may I address you, sir?"

Connor was ... deeply surprised. Yes, he had worked hard on staying incognito, constantly removing wanted posters ... But sitting in an inn and having a beer with a guard officer who asked him politely about his name was too much. And Valley putting three jugs on their table and touching his shoulder far too accidentally was clearly no help in this situation.

"My name is Connor," he replied tonelessly.

"Pleased to meet you," the guard officer smiled, giving Connor his hand. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Surely Smith had noticed that there was a connection between Connor and his 'friend' Meggie. So why was he so polite ..?

"It's me who wanted to talk to you!" Meggie heckled. "Hey Smitty! Don't ignore me!"

And now Connor understood. He understood and gave her a superior gaze.

"Silence," he hushed her, then turned to Smith: "We are looking for Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Cross. As a guard officer you might know about his arrival. We are also looking for a man called Greencog. He used to be a brewer once."

Smith put his fingertips together and leaned back in thought. He definitely knew something.

"That's not fair!" Meggie interrupted again. "You're so mean to me, Smitty!"

Connor looked at her with an even more contemptuous stare than before and dashed his palm onto the tabletop with such a force that the three jugs made a jump and lost some beer. Meggie became silent at once which made Smith fall for Connor completely.

"You have to tell me how you managed to tame that monkey!" he whispered, leaning forth to Connor.

"She is not a monkey," Connor replied gloomily.

"What is she then? A woman?"

"At least a human."

From the corner of his eye Connor saw that Meggie looked up at him with big eyes. Not acting at all. At the same time Smith leaned back again, rising his left eyebrow and looking from Connor to Meggie and from Meggie to Connor with an amused smile.

"You're right," he said. "If she wouldn't talk as if she was born in the gutter, drink beer by the bucketful and walk like a lumberjack one could even consider her pretty. A comrade of mine was secretly in love with her. Got wounded by her twice. Died of pneumonia in 1779.

"As I understand this," he suddenly changed the topic, "you want to attend a certain meeting stealthily." He seemingly enjoyed the two perplexed expressions, for his smile got a smug aftertaste. "Eight o'clock, the cellar of the Elmwood Manor right outside the city to the north. You should come at seven o'clock before the first members arrive."

He quickly emptied his jug and arose.

"I won't say more," he ended and marched out of the tavern, taking the other guards with him.

Connor and Meggie still sat at their table, speechless. Then their eyes met.

"How does he happen to know so much?" Connor asked sharply.

"Don't look at me like that. I've no idea," Meggie hissed. "I hoped that as a guard officer he would know about everything going on in the city, being able to give us hints where to look for the Templars without even knowing it. And, as you said, that he might know about Nathaniel. Yet he knows much more than I even dared to expect. Indeed, he provided us with all the information we need. Well, the one half he probably figured out by himself. It's not so difficult actually. As for the other half, however, someone definitely told him about the meeting and the people attending."

"It might be a trap."

Meggie shook her head. "No. Smitty would never do that. He never lures me into something I can't handle." And, seeing Connors quizzical expression, she added: "He hates me so much that he would lose his purpose in life if I died."

Connor furrowed his brow. "I have to admit you have quite a gift for making friends."

"I know." Meggie grinned nearly as smugly as Smith. "But you surprised me as well: So I'm a human, huh?"

"I never considered you anything else," Connor replied, still frowning. "Except for the short time when I thought you were seriously proposing to burn my homestead."

"You should have seen your face when you said that. As if protecting a maiden against a dragon."

"I never considered you needing protection."

"You're right. It's more like others need protection against me."

A silent snarl escaped through Connor's teeth.

"Stop talking like this! Why are you trying to be beastly, anyway? I do not know what is more annoying: this repetitive self-hatred or seeing you constantly lying to yourself! What are you afraid of?!"

It was his victory: For the first time Meggie didn't answer. Yet he almost regretted having said this, for her face suddenly turned stony; she shirked from his look, staring out of the window and unable to prevent a tear from running down her freckled cheek.

* * *

To be continued ...

In case anyone suspects something like that: Yes, Walburga "Valley" Meisser is my official self-insert here. Well, she isn't really like me, but her character is based on an insider joke about me. And if I met Connor my reaction would probably be the same as hers. ;)

About Meggie's books - they're not that important, but still: "Robinson Crusoe" was first released in 1719, and the French fairytales ... It's a collection of fairytales that contains "Beauty and the Beast" (the first published version came out in 1740, an English translation was published in 1757). Meggie identifies strongly with it (especially in her relationship with Connor), but I never found a proper place to put this information into the story, so it ended up as one of many "deleted scenes" - with the only difference that there's still a part of it left in the story, since I didn't want to delete the fairytales completely.

Thank you very much for reading, and I'll see you next week!


	7. The Scent of Sheep and Gunpowder

**Chapter 7: The Scent of Sheep and Gunpowder**

He had found Meggie's weak spot. Yet it was not only the least fortunate moment for this, but it also had made her cry. She tried to suppress it, to concentrate on the search for the Elmwood Manor, yet she actually did nothing but mutely trail behind him. He hadn't meant to hurt her so badly. He hadn't meant to hurt her at all. And he couldn't bear it anymore.

"I am sorry," he said, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street.

The next moment he felt Meggie bumping into him.

He turned to her. "Honestly, I -"

"You don't need to apologize", she said, staring vacantly into space. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"You are crying."

"Not anymore."

"We -" Connor shook his head. "We can't work like this. And we still have three hours left."

He grabbed her arm, dragging her straight into a valley, and, spotting a nice church roof, headed towards it. There weren't many places in a city where one could talk in private, and since most people didn't care about what was going on above their heads, a high rooftop seemed to be a suitable alternative. Meggie looked almost afraid when he gestured her to climb the church, apparently having a presentiment of what he was up to.

"Do you want me to flood all of New York with tears?" she grumbled as they reached the roof. "I'm not crying anymore, Connor, so -"

"In this state you are going to be a drag for me," Connor said, being highly surprised by the harshness of his words himself. "Either you go back to the Aquila and wait or you talk to me."

"Talk?!"

"You did not tell me the story of Meggie the Parrot yet." Just what was he talking about?! What was he doing?! The only thing that was certain was that it was an emergency. There was a possibility that he would need her. But why was he asking about the Parrot?

Meggie's look got a hostile shade. She pushed her mandible forward, pursing her lips and staring piercingly in his eye.

"All right," she said. "If it pleases you ..." She took a deep breath. "When I turned thirteen I decided to take action. What was left of the Brotherhood, Achilles and Bobby Faulkner, had deserted me, so I looked for new allies. John Hancock had problems with the British then. They accused him of smuggling and had confiscated his ship. I paid him a visit through the window of his bureau, fully armed, with legs on his desk and, well, thirteen years old. I told him that the Sons of Liberty were everything but warriors, so they would need me if they were going to resist the British. Hancock laughed at me of course, but he was forced to change his mind after I burned the confiscated HMS Liberty in his name.

"The Sons of Liberty and I made a deal: I aided them in dangerous affairs while they provided me with information. My problem was that I was barely able to leave Boston, since I had to take care of the household and Peter. Most Templars were out of my reach anyway, but as a merchant, even as an honest one, Hancock had to have an eye on the black market, since it had effects on his business as well. I had found out that Thomas Hickey, my main target, was operating there, so I concentrated on observing it through Hancock and even partly participating in smuggling affairs, hoping to meet Hickey. He came to Boston a few times, but I failed at even getting close to him.

"I was the Parrot from 1768 until 1772. In 1770 my stepfather became victim of the Boston Massacre. I tried to run his shop in Peter's name for a while, but the household, Peter and the taxes made it impossible. So I gave it up and earned money by aiding the smugglers, mainly providing escort and killing recoats. I made us quite wealthy. At least we had enough to pay a cook and a governess for Peter.

"My Parrot career began and ended with the burning of a ship. In 1772 I burned the HMS Gaspée, and upon my return I got a message from Hancock that Hickey would be in New York soon. After failing so many times I didn't want to take any risks anymore and decided to kill him immediately when I'd see him, no matter what. It happened that I saw him on a crowded street in full daylight, and so I shot him on a crowded street in full daylight. Had to kill half of the city guards as well after that. Yet that bastard survived somehow and even regained his full health. However, his injury alarmed the Templars. I had foiled some of their business earlier, but they never took me really seriously. Yet after shooting Hickey I got a visit by Haytham Kenway himself. This was when I realized how irrelevant I was. He could have killed me easily. Yet he spared my life. I've never felt so humiliated before ... Killing so many people just to be spared by the enemy. He didn't mean it, though. He only tried to convince me to stop interfering. He told me how my father died with much respect towards him and advised me to stop wasting my life and finally marry George whom I knew since the Boston Massacre. He frightened me by knowing everything about me, and - what was worse - he pitied me. My enemy who killed my mother fucking pitied me. He made me realize that I had lived for nothing.

"I did the same thing as Achilles whom I had despised for his inactivity. Which made me feel even more humiliated. But I decided to start a new life without killing, without hoods, without violence. I married George, and we had a son. Fletcher. Peter lived with us.

"Then the war broke out. George, my intellectual aesthete, was a confirmed Patriot, yet he had also some problems of his own because it was me and not him who knocked in the nails in our household, and he thought that he absolutely had to prove to me what a man he was. So he joined the Continental Army and died directly at Lexington. A few weeks later Fletcher died too. Pox. As for Peter, he was almost a redcoat-hating fanatic, and I barely could hold him back from going to war at his young age. He was fourteen years old then. He had accepted George as kind of a father and after his death he wanted revenge, so I couldn't stop him anymore. Since Fletcher was dead, I decided to disguise myself as a man and join the army as well to protect him. He was too young to become a soldier, but since he refused to leave he was accepted as gofer. Yet I failed to protect him nonetheless. Lost my fingers then as well.

"After losing everyone I just stayed in the army. I had nowhere to go anymore. And at least I had Jonathan there. I even got pregnant by him. Forced the doctor to do an abortion. I couldn't bear a child in the middle of the war, could I? And as punishment I barely survived the procedure. Later, when the war was clearly about to end, Jonathan and I married. You already know the rest.

"So you see: I failed. I failed as a daughter, I failed as an Assassin, I failed as an avenger, I failed as a sister, I failed as a shopkeeper, I failed as a lover, I failed as a wife, and I failed as a mother. I failed completely. The only thing I didn't fail at is killing. Actually, I'm pretty good at it. I was born to kill, I was taught to kill, I wanted to kill, I killed, then I wanted to stop, but ended up killing again, then I wanted to stop once more and ended up killing my husband. Are you happy now?"

Connor stared at her. This had been a very long story, told in complete monotony. Except for the part with Haytham Kenway's visit it even had sounded as if Meggie was telling a story which she had heard somewhere by pure accident. As if this story weren't her own. She hadn't been crying, she hadn't been stuttering, she hadn't shown even the slightest emotion.

This was ... scary. Scary, and it didn't explain anything. What had made her cry just before? It definitely wasn't her past. It had been foolish of him to ask about that. It had been foolish of him to even force her to speak. Had he hoped to find a way to calm her down? Well, at least in this matter he succeeded: Meggie was as calm as a sleeping glacier during a polar night. A glacier which easily could turn into an avalanche, and take countless lives without a single spark of emotion.

And then it struck him. He raised his gaze and looked directly in her eye, trying to break through the wall of ice.

"You are lying," he said. "You are lying by speaking of failure. You never felt this way." He noticed that Meggie's green eyes widened and her piglet pink skin turned pale. "It is rather that you are afraid of failing. You did what you could, according to the situations you were in - and you know it. You told me that for you there is no such thing as guilt and innocence. Yet failure means guilt. I do not believe that you do not see this. So as far as I understand you there is no place for the notion of failure in your philosophy. Yet you are afraid your conception might prove wrong. Because you do not completely believe in it. You cling to it to avoid feeling bad because of killing which you loath. You pretend to be apathetic about it, trying to convince yourself in the first place. You never ceased to be a real Assassin. You turned your back on the Brotherhood only after the Brotherhood abandoned you. You would not have tried to restore the Brotherhood, and you would not have sabotaged Templar plans, if you were only up to kill one single man. You never truly ceased to believe in our ideals, and you never gave up. Each time you lost something you found a new path, a new purpose in life. And now ... I do not want to sound presumptuous, but seeing that you were watching me for years and felt obliged to protect me from the Templars I conclude that the true reason why you are helping me is that ..." He swallowed, thinking about how to put it best. "That you see your new path by my side."

Something tingled inside his belly as he said this. His fingers were also slightly trembling while his thoughts circled around the many meanings of the last sentence. He had to admit that for some reason he felt nervous. His breath made it obvious.

As for Meggie, she still stood in front of him - not pale anymore but wet with tears. He had touched her very inside, she was crying again, even more than before. Her eyes sparkled in the light of the afternoon sun, and her bronze freckles vainly tried to hide the glow of her cheeks. There was an old sorrow in her gaze, but it was a sorrow that only existed because there was still something inside her it hadn't destroyed yet.

"I -" She closed her mouth, giving up speaking, covering her face with her hands and wiping off the tears while more streamed out of her eyes.

"You are strong, Meggie," Connor said, removing her hands from her face to look in it. "After so much disappointment you still believe and continue to live and to fight. You are very persistent and determined. You are intelligent and sophisticated, and very good at hiding it by your acting skills. And you have a good heart, although you try to hide it as well. You perfectly know what I feel, and by means of all our discussions you actually try to help me to recover from everything I went through. You force me to confront my own sorrow, to fight it by confronting you. And I have to admit that since Achilles' death someone to argue with is probably what I need most. I already told you: You are a much better person than you want me to believe. So I thank you for everything."

Just what was he talking about? The words slipped out spontaneously and instinctively from somewhere very deep inside.

"I asked you about the Parrot's story because I knew you would tell it this time," he continued with his voice growing weaker. "I realize it just now. I did not understand it when I asked. I felt that I needed to know it, that ... We are indeed very similar, Meggie. I could have been you. I could have ended up denying morality and being afraid of believing. Maybe I was not even far away from it, I do not know for sure. I wanted to learn your story to understand my own. To understand myself. So driving you to tears was a selfish act which I am very sorry for."

Meggie didn't say anything, but only stared at him with puffy, red eyes. She wasn't even blinking, standing in front of him stone-still as if hypnotized.

"I am sorry," he repeated, wiping off her tears, holding her face in his hands, realizing that it actually _was _pretty with her deep set eyes, her straight nose and her light crimson lips, revealing a cute, little gap between her teeth on the left side when they opened. He couldn't resist smiling thinking of this tiny defect which made her set of teeth fairly unique. Meggie was an extraordinary woman. It was unarguable. No one had ever understood him as well as her, and she had come into his life out of the blue, as if saying: 'You always used to accept what you considered to be your destiny. You didn't choose the life you're living. You never asked for it. So here am I now. Laugh, cry, run around in circles, screaming - but accept your destiny. For at your side is where I belong.'

Was there a choice? Still holding her face, he leaned down and laid his forehead against hers; then, sliding by the tip of her nose, he tenderly lowered his lips onto her mouth. For a short time at first, then again, then more determined, feeling her hands gliding along his back. He strewed her lips with this little kisses until she opened them to let in his tongue while his hands slid down to embrace her body.

She felt warm and tasted salty from crying. And she was incredibly soft. He could feel her breath lightly touching his skin, her caressing lips and tongue, her bosom against his chest ... Her scent. Her scent beneath all the smells of the day, the scent she was born with, the scent of a distant land beyond the ocean with green hills and sheep and old castles, at the same time mixed with months of sea air as well as the smell of the Colonies, iron and gunpowder.

Their kiss didn't end until the grip of her sword got caught up with his tomahawk. Only then Connor realized that her set of throwing knives was squeezing against his stomach, and he didn't even dare to imagine in which way he may have hurt _her_. Heavily armed people just weren't supposed to kiss.

He instantly let go of her, fastening his eyes on her and checking if she was all right. Yet she seemed to care very little about the weapons. Instead she had her vacant stare into space again, carefully palpating her lips and blinking.

"That wasn't bad," she breathed with glowing cheeks and reddened lips. "That wasn't bad at all ..." And turning her face to him again and firmly: "You shouldn't have done this."

"I know," Connor answered, suddenly feeling something like a crack running from his top down to his toes. Remembering everything that had been said, everything that had been thought. That they were Assassins ... Meanwhile the crack grew, getting more and more branches, covering him completely with tiny crevices, releasing ...

"Once, when I still lived in Kanatahséton, my friend Kanen'tó:kon and I were sent out to collect eagle feathers for a ceremony," he started speaking again, unexpectedly even to himself. "We found a nest on a cliff, difficult to access, and I felt challenged. Despite Kanen'tó:kon's warning I climbed it and obtained a feather. Just as I was about to leave the eagle returned, attacking me to protect its nest. And I fell. Luckily there was a bush beneath me. I told Kanen'tó:kon -" Connor would have chuckled if he wouldn't have been his serious self, "that I did that on purpose. But as a matter of fact, I could have broken my neck and died then. Pretending that I landed in the bush intentionally did not change anything about the truth that I had failed. Does it mean that I should not have climbed the cliff? How was I supposed to improve if I did not push myself? I would not have come far if I always would have done what I should."

Strange, how determined he was about what he was saying ...

"Many years later Kanen'tó:kon was convinced by Charles Lee that I was a traitor. I tried to prevent my people from entering the war, and as I confronted him, my friend turned against me. He did not believe me that he had been lied to. He attacked me ... We grew up together, Meggie, I knew him for my whole life ... We had been playing together ... We had learned to speak and walk together ... We had hunted together ... He was like a brother to me, especially after the death of my mother. But if I had not killed him, he would have killed me. He died believing that I was his enemy."

Connor paused, turning his gaze aside and pressing his lips together. He was so determined, but what was he telling her? Why?

"I never spoke about this before," he whispered, shivering at the wretched sound of his voice. "Yet not speaking about it does not change anything about the truth as well. Kanen'tó:kon is dead by my hand. There is no point in running away from it. I do not regret having climbed that cliff, and I should not regret having stabbed my childhood friend. I should not regret anything I have done in my life. I should not think about what might have been, for it will never be. What is done cannot be undone. It can only be accepted."

Meggie was holding his hand. For how long already? He didn't know.

"I'm sorry for your friend," she said, pausing in respect. Then continuing: "You might be right. It might be the only way. This is actually what my mother was teaching me. She was a nice person, but a hard teacher. She taught me to swim by tossing me into the water in the middle of the Davenport Bay and letting me paddle for my life. As for fighting, I had a weakness as a child. I used to think much about my opponent's movements and wasn't able to move instinctively, so my reactions were too slow. Yet my mother showed no mercy when exercising. If I wasn't quick enough to defend myself, I got beaten. I was all blue of bruises back then, sometimes bleeding. If I just stood there crying, I was beaten up even more. So at some point my instincts took over, and I was able to block her attacks. I had to accept the rules; I had to change according to them. I had to accept the pain and learn from my failures."

Almost all of his own pain was blown from Connor's mind. He could barely move, and his eyes bulged out. "How can anyone treat his own child like this?!"

"This is Assassin education - at least, how my mother understood it," Meggie shrugged with a very scary amount of serenity. "Of course, as a child I even hated her sometimes, but she was still my mother ... And without her hard lessons ... The Assassin Brotherhood is much about bloodlines. If you are connected to it by blood, the war between Assassins and Templars sooner or later will come for you, whether you want it or not. I wouldn't have had any chance of survival without this training."

"It is still barbaric," Connor murmured, feeling even pampered by his childhood among his people. "Our main purpose might be to fight and to kill, but we Assassins are human beings, and we should treat each other as such. However," he suddenly sighed, letting his gaze wander around aimlessly, "accepting pain and sorrow, enduring all the difficulties of our path might be indeed what the Assassin Brotherhood truly is about. Achilles had failed as an Assassin, for he could not bear his own losses. So maybe this - spirit -" Astonishment and bewilderment flooded Meggie's face. She seemingly knew about the spirits, but not that he had met one of them. "Maybe she was right. She told me that I have succeeded. That the loss of my people's land had been a sacrifice for a greater purpose which I do not need to understand. So maybe the Brotherhood is indeed not about feelings or about morality or guilt or innocence. It is about following the Creed. Nothing more."

"There is much irony and bitterness about being an Assassin," Meggie nodded. "But it's getting late. We'll fail our mission to save the Brotherhood if we don't go now. Are you ready?"

"I am," Connor replied. "And I am glad to see that you are as well."

Meggie grinned. She finally grinned. Proudly. She straightened her back, speaking quite loudly:

"Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:

"Nothing is true.

"Where other men are limited by morality or law, remember:

"Everything is permitted.

"We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.

"So let's go kick some Templar asses!"

Before he knew what was happening he felt her hands firmly clasping his head and pushing him into a short kiss, embracing him with the scent of sheep and gunpowder once again. The next moment she was flying towards a haystack.

* * *

To be continued ...

Thanks to everyone reading this fanfic! See you next week! :)


	8. Templar Affairs

**Chapter 8: Templar Affairs**

The back door of the Elmwood Manor wasn't guarded. The Templars didn't seem to expect any uninvited guests. How naive ...

"It's locked," Meggie stated as she tried it. "We'll have to find a key or fool the two idiots at the front door."

"Not necessary," Connor replied, whipping out his lock picks.

"I would've never guessed that someone like you breaks into other people's homes."

"I do it when I have to."

"But thinking about it," Meggie said, lowering her hand onto his shoulder. "I wouldn't mind if you break into _my _house one day ... or rather night."

Connor paused with lock picking for a few seconds, then continued without a comment.

"Seriously, Connor," Meggie was enjoying herself far too much once again. "Since you infested me with that kiss I wonder what you might do next ... I'm a weak, fragile woman after all."

Connor would have managed to open the door exactly this moment if she hadn't surprised him with _that_! He turned and looked coolly at this tall, battle-scarred woman who wielded two pistols, a sword, a heavy Caucasian dagger, four hidden blades and had throwing knives stored everywhere about her body. Then he started a new attempt to open the door, desperately trying not to listen to her.

"And the worst thing about this is that I don't even know your real name! Your mother didn't name you Connor, did she?"

Connor lowered his tools and sighed. "My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

He didn't like her being depressed, but he didn't like her being in a good mood either. And her eyes still being red from crying didn't make this dilemma easier to endure.

"Rado-hago ... Rado-hack ... Radonhagon?"

She couldn't have picked a worse moment for practising the pronunciation of his name. Yet he couldn't deny that it felt good to see someone trying to learn his real name after all those years. He wasn't even really used to be called by it anymore.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," he repeated slowly.

"Radonhaaaydon."

"I do not mind you calling me Connor," he said, sighing again.

"I ... If you could repeat it only one more time, please ..."

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Connor muttered tonelessly and turned again to that miserable lock, poking his tools into its keyhole and enjoying the longed-for silence. Meggie stood right behind him, quietly moving her lips in practise, finally busy with something else than teasing him.

Finally! Finally the lock snapped and the door opened. Connor stood up, holding it and commanding Meggie to enter with a cold stare. She grinned complacently as she passed.

The inside of the manor was impressive with its wood panelling and golden chandeliers along the main corridor, everything brand-new just as the manor itself. A long carpet silenced the steps of the two Assassins as they sneaked past portraits and marble busts. It wouldn't be a surprise if Mr. Elmwood was a Templar. Not only for the Templar gathering in his cellar but also for the Templars' propensity to call large prosperities their own.

There were many rooms, much display of wealth, but ... no cellar door. And nobody around. Sometimes Connor and Meggie heard noise from above, but no one came downstairs. They were combing the corridor for the third time when two light feet finally pattered down the stairs. Connor immediately dragged Meggie into the room closest to them.

"Same as in the Davenport Manor, I think," Meggie whispered. "There must be a secret door somewhere. We can waste ages to find it, but we can also simply ask someone."

"Do you expect that servant to tell you everything?" Connor frowned, nodding in the direction of the kitchen where the two light feet had come to a stand.

"If I ask her friendlily - why not?"

Connor clenched his teeth, knowing too well what 'ask her friendlily' meant in Meggie language. Yet they didn't have another choice ...

"Do not harm her," he grumbled.

"Not a scratch."

She slipped past him into the corridor and headed towards the kitchen. Connor sneaked right behind her, hoping that Meggie would keep her word. He hadn't seen her harming innocents yet, but he couldn't ignore that he knew her since only one week. For a moment he even wondered why he had kissed her. This sassy, sadistic woman - and considering that he had lived without kissing women for twenty eight years. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even had much to do with kissable women during all this time. Which might be the reason for his 'monk in a monastery' living, as Meggie called it. Throughout his childhood he had been too young and thus not interested. When he _grew _interested and even used to secretly gaze at an especially pretty girl in his village he had had to leave and ended up living alone with an old man. The wives of the Homestead's villagers and female passers-by in the cities were not considered kissable and didn't even awaken his interest. Moreover, with his training and later being an Assassin he was far too busy for such things, realizing that hunting Templars and love were fairly incompatible. And then there was Deborah Carter asking him to let her have 'the first crack'. Just joking with a friend. Both of them perfectly knew that comrades were not kissable. And she wasn't his type in a romantic sense at all. Although he had no idea of what his type in a romantic sense was.

The familiar clicking of a hidden blade tore him out of his rumination, reminding him of the tendency towards absentmindedness he suffered lately.

"Excuse me, please ... Do you want to live?"

He saw Meggie standing in the middle of the kitchen with her back towards the entrance, stretching out her right arm and holding her blade at the throat of the servant, a small and very frightened young woman. Meggie stood right behind her, so the girl couldn't see by whom she was threatened.

"There must be a hidden entrance to the cellar of this manor. Where?"

The cold monotony in Meggie's voice was very different from the sometimes childish and sometimes bitter tones Connor was used from her. He remembered her telling Diana to forget about her hostage-taking. The same voice. She loathed involving innocents, desperately trying not to let herself get weakened by it.

"I ... Please ... Don't ... I'll ..."

"Birth faster."

"Turn Shakespeare's head on the mantelpiece in the dining room."

"Thank you. And please don't get mad with me. Your master seems to be a pretty asshole, and I'm only trying to save a few lives. If I were you I'd look for another job. That I would keep this little incident for myself is self-evident. Am I understood?"

The small woman nodded.

"Now count 'til ten before you turn around."

Another nod.

"Goodbye."

"One ... two ..."

As Meggie walked past the servant-pitying Connor she grabbed him and dragged him to the room they had identified as the dining room earlier.

* * *

Meggie whistled whereas Connor tried to express his amazement in a more silent way. Yes, the Elmwood Manor was quite huge, but who would have guessed that its secret cellar would come close to a small church, filled with thick columns, banners, chandeliers and a long cherry wood table in the middle? The restored Templar Order obviously had great plans for the time after they eliminated the Assassin Brotherhood, so looking at all this aroused Connor's anger. He clenched his fists as they walked down the stone stairs and towards the table.

"We still have a little time", Meggie said. "Let's see if we can find anything interesting. Maps, letters, notes, documents ... You know what I mean."

Connor nodded. He had thought exactly the same, yet it wasn't the pile of paper in the middle of the table which attracted his sixth sense but the platform on the other side of the room. There was nothing special, but ... He kneeled down as he reached its middle and swept with his hand over a slab, huge enough for ... There was space between it and other slabs, and cold air came from beneath.

"Nothing interesting over here," Meggie said, suddenly standing right next to him. "Much bureaucracy, maps of all the states without any marks ... But you have found something, didn't you?"

"A secret passage," Connor answered. "For some reason it troubles me that I do not know how to open it."

"Do you think the Assassins might be down there?"

"No." Connor shook his head. "They are not here. I am sure. I would have noticed."

"Conny ..." Meggie kneeled down next to him. "You found this trapdoor quite quickly, as if you knew it's there. Can it be that you have Eagle Vision?"

"I had it already as a child. It was always natural to me. Until Achilles explained me what it is."

"It's very rare. And it means that ..." Meggie gave him one of the smiles he didn't like. "If I manage to seduce you and get pregnant, my child might get it too! This would be awesome!"

"You are incorrigible," Connor replied, shaking his head resignedly.

"I'm doing my best, sweetheart!"

Connor reacted with a paradoxical mixture of a cold stare, a snort and a coolly warm smile. Step by step she got him used to such communication.

"I know," he answered, standing up and looking across to the stairs. Someone was moving behind the door up there. "We should hide now. The first Templars seem to arrive."

There was so much useless golden junk hanging on the columns that it was a child's play to climb them. Where did Mr. Elmwood have all this prosperities from? Connor balanced along the beams, ducking under the cellar ceiling and heading towards the middle of the room where he had perfect sight at everything going on beneath. Meggie squatted next to him.

"To be honest, I can't help but feel a little nervous," she whispered. "Nathaniel used to be my best friend after all. And maybe he still is. I don't know."

Connor didn't answer. He just patted her shoulder carefully, turning his gaze to the stairs where three figures had appeared, talking about weather and everyday affairs. As if it weren't a meeting of a secret order at all, as if they weren't going to talk about the fate of six Assassins in a few minutes. As if their order weren't endangered by Connor who was trying to save his friends. He hoped so much that the Templars would talk about their location! If not - he would be forced to ask them directly and risk an open conflict which could have fatal consequences for the hostages.

Waiting ... much waiting, coming and empty conversations below. Connor's heart began to beat faster at the thought that he might find out where his friends were very soon, and he actually hated this talk on the wrong topic. On the other hand, however, Templars giving him the exact coordinates of his friends' location would have been too good to be true.

Then Nathaniel appeared. Dressed in his brown jacket, his golden hair tied together behind his neck and a stony expression on his face. Everyone's eyes turned to him as he entered, and a murmur went through the hall. He ignored all this unpleasant attention and walked through the room as if all the other Templars, a few dozens of people, didn't exist. He was pale like a ghost.

"I was told that our special guest has finally appeared," shrilled a voice at the door. "So we can begin, can't we, gentlemen?"

"Spare me your rituals and ceremonies, Greencog," Nathaniel grumbled with his back towards Greencog and staring at the platform Connor had inspected earlier as if his life depended on it. "What do you want from me?"

Geencog, a stout man in his forties, moved surprisingly quickly for his stature as he walked down the stairs and crossed the room.

"Our order is fighting for its existence, and you have failed," he said. "You owe us at least an apology."

"And for this you commanded me to come here instead of taking care of the traitor and the Assassin problem?"

"You aren't needed in Boston anymore," Greencog answered impassively. "Our brothers from the south," he made a gesture towards a group of Templars, "promised us their help in eliminating the half-breed, so our little game with the Assassin will continue somewhere else. As for the traitor, I doubt you would have figured out who he is."

"He's dead," Nathaniel snarled, looking up in Greencog's face for the first time. "I got a message from Boston today. All the remaining members of the Boston branch were found dead in the woods."

Greencog made a step towards him. "So you failed once again. First Tyler, then Frank, then all the others. And I was told you were a strategic genius."

Nathaniel straightened his back, looking down at the short Grand Master.

"Tyler's death was something no one could predict," he said. "As for Frank's death, I was against this plan from the very beginning, but the others panicked and insisted on attacking the Assassin, so I gave in before anything worse could happen. It's impossible to control men in panic. And moreover, Frank was such a stupid and incapable man that his death isn't a loss to our order anyway. The death of the others I ordered myself. Doing so I eliminated the traitor and cleared the Order of three useless idiots you have promoted undeservedly when you arrived."

Greencog frowned. "You cleared the Order? What are you up to, Mr. Cross? And who is working for you, killing our own members?"

"My main concern is the well-being of the Order ever since I was recruited by Haytham Kenway," Nathaniel answered. "As for the killer, I'm sure you understand that people usually keep such identities secret."

"You prefer to keep your aces to yourself, don't you?" Greencog's expression suddenly softened. "I understand. I prefer the same. And this is why you won't know where you are going."

Now it was Nathaniel who frowned. "How am I supposed to find my destination then?"

Greencog smiled. "As you know, we have no idea of what the Assassin is doing, where he is and how much he knows about our plans. Thus we need absolute secrecy. Except for me the only person knowing your destination is your captain. He's receiving the instructions right now."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"Uh, nothing too complicated. Just taking up command of our fort where our dear hostages are taken to. You're the one who got us into this mess with the half-breed killing our members, so you'll take care of this matter until you succeed or get killed by the Assassin yourself."

Nathaniel still looked unperturbed as if he hadn't expected anything else than this order.

"I can live with that," he said with a thoughtful expression and making a few steps towards the platform. "So it's decided and accepted. Anything else concerning me?"

"No. Not you in particular," Greencog said, turning to the other guests. "My apologies for wasting your time with this failure, gentlemen. We meet for the Annual Convention of the Templar Order to discuss our plans and strategy for future after all. Judging by everything I was told so far, there is no need to be worried about money - all thanks to our southern brothers and their plantations."

"Especially Theodore Elmwood!" someone exclaimed.

"Yes, your cousin has quite a talent," Greencog agreed. "It's a shame he couldn't come today. Urgent matters in South Carolina."

"It's really a shame," Nathaniel suddenly interrupted, standing on the platform and looking down at the crowd of Templars. "I hoped to see him among you all."

"If you need to talk to him, you can tell me and I'll pass it to him," Theodore Elmwood's cousin said.

"Thank you for the offer, but there's actually nothing I have to say to this duplicitous slave owner," Nathaniel replied monotonously, walking up and down and cerebrating about something. He was even paler than when he entered.

"Is there something that you want to tell us, Mr. Cross?" Greencog turned to him again. "I know that you are up to something. You can't hide it from me. You have been plotting against me ever since we met."

"That's true," Nathaniel said calmly, still deep in thought.

"How kind of you to admit your treason," Greencog smiled frostily. "So if you could leave for your mission now, please ... Surely you are aware of the fact that my men know where your family lives."

Nathaniel nodded without looking up.

"Surely you are aware of the fact, Mr. Greencog, that I have good contacts to the city guard of Boston and New York and have eliminated all the spies watching me and my family long ago. That all the reports you received are fake. That I have more men at my disposal than you. And, last but not least, that I'm a better shooter than you."

With these words Nathaniel wheeled around, pointing a gun at Greencog.

"Surely you realized just now that the guards out there obey my command and not yours," he said, still without showing any emotion.

Then he squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed from the stone walls of the hall, blending with a shrill howl bursting out of Greencog's mouth. Blood splashed from his chest as he fell on his knees.

"Traitor! Murder!" someone cried, and a crowd of Templars swashed towards the platform. But it was too late: The huge slab in the middle disappeared for a second, and then returned, burying Nathaniel beneath. And before anyone could react, a whole chorus of shots resounded in the hall, tossing about a dozen men to the ground. The stone stairs were occupied by two rows of city guards equipped with muskets.

The Templars turned out to be unarmed, since Greencog apparently had told the two guards at the main entrance to disarm everyone entering, being perfectly aware of the threat of treachery by madmen like Nathaniel. A terrible mistake. The second volley took down one more dozen of Templars, whereas the others equipped themselves with everything they could find: candlesticks, chairs, paperknives ... And death cries. For everyone knew that they wouldn't leave this place alive.

Connor watched this scene like under hypnosis for the first few moments, then his consciousness suddenly awoke and the smell of gunpowder stroke into his nose. The Templars and the city guards were clashing against each other, candlesticks against bayonets. The Grand Master was convulsing in pain, still kneeling where he had been shot.

Connor grabbed Meggie's arm.

"We do not know how to open the trapdoor or where the tunnel leads, so we need Greencog alive," he commanded, then jumped down, killing a Templar and a guard with his hidden blades. Both sides would consider him their enemy, and there wasn't any chance to explain anything in this chaos anyway. So Connor took out his tomahawk and aimed for a guard's chest, subsequently breaking a Templar's back, as he fought his way to the dying Greencog.

From the corner of his eye he saw Meggie covering his back. She grabbed a guard by his shoulders, stabbing him with the blade clicking out from under her knee, then turned, kicked another one against his chest to the ground, executing him with her sword while parrying a Templar's attack with her left hidden blade. She was quick, skilfully manoeuvring between the candlesticks and bayonets and surprising her victims with the amount of blades she could attack them with.

As he looked forward again, stabbing a Templar with his sword, he noticed that Greencog was moving. The mortally wounded Grand Master was crawling towards the platform, ignoring all the Templars and guards stumbling over him, bleeding, but still moving, grumbling and cursing, and fleeing from Connor.

"Bollox!" Greencog shouted as he reached the huge slab. "That bloody bastard! Arsehole! Sabotaged the trapdoor! Go to hell! Die!" He spitted blood onto the ground and turned to Connor. "And what do you want, you savage mongrel, huh? C'mon, kill me, you bloody hybrid. We'll both die here anyway!"

Connor grabbed his throat. "Where are the hostages?"

"Do you really think I can tell you?" Greencog made a gurgling laugh. "Do you expect me to give you the exact route while I can't read nautical charts? Go, search the whole Caribbean Sea for the little volcano island St. Robert. In fifty years you won't find it! You are doomed, Assassin! Your whole brotherhood is doomed! Even after this betrayal, this massacre - we Templars will carry on! We can't be defeated!"

"I will find this island," Connor said without any doubt. He had managed to survive Bunker Hill and his own execution, he had taken on a whole man-of-war all alone in the Battle of the Chesapeake, and he had killed Charles Lee being seriously wounded. There was no reason to doubt that he would succeed this time as well. "Give me a chart."

Another laugh. "Go search the house with the guards chasing you!"

These were the last words of Grand Master Greencog. His laugh turned into cough for a second, a rattling longing for air silenced by blood. Then there was no noise anymore. There was nothing to do about it. Connor arose picking up his tomahawk and slew two more guards. The same moment Meggie gave the last one a finishing stroke.

"Did he tell you anything?" Meggie asked, hurrying towards him.

"Not much," Connor said. "The Templars are bringing them to St. Robert Island in the Caribbean. I need a chart to find it."

Meggie shook her head. "We can't search the house now. A few guards escaped, so reinforcements will be here soon."

"I know. But Nathaniel's captain has a chart as well. We cannot follow him, but I am sure he is heading for his ship. If we are fast enough we can make it before the Ophelia leaves the docks."

"That's on the other side of the city," Meggie stated. "So you propose to run through the whole of New York, having the whole of New York's city guard on our trail?" An adventurous smirk spread on her face. "I like that. A handsome man kissing me, city guards being eager to be massacred ... I begin feeling young again!"

Connor gave her a pat on the shoulder, having no other choice than to accept her way of seeing things. The next moment there was noise outside and another troop rushed into the cellar and drew a bead on the two Assassins. As always, they did a terrible mistake ignoring the innumerable corpses around them.

* * *

To be continued ...

I hope you liked this chapter, and thanks for reading!


	9. We Are Bastards

**Chapter 9: We Are Bastards**

Connor jumped over the alley crossing his way over the moonlit rooftops of New York. On the other side of the street Meggie did exactly the same. Behind them, on the ground and on the roofs, one half of the New York City guard was panting whereas the other half kept coming from the sides and head-on. When a guard managed to catch up with him he would turn around and blow his tomahawk between his neck and shoulder, then turn back to the southeast and keep running towards the docks.

As the guards had burst into the cellar earlier, Meggie had raised her hands, pretending to surrender. She and Connor had been clearly outnumbered for a gunfight, so they let the guards surround them with bayonets at the perfect distance for close combat. They had fought their way to the exit, breathing in the cool night air, eventually running back towards the city and climbing the rooftops.

They had to get rid of their pursuers somehow before they reached the Ophelia. Hide and then reach the docks by stealth? He and Meggie had killed too many guards. The whole city was alarmed by now. And they had to be quick as well. Under normal circumstances Connor would escape the sight of the guards and wait, but this time he had to keep running.

However, there was no other option than to try and hide. Connor whistled loudly in Meggie's direction, leaping off the rooftops into a haystack, eventually rolling to one side of the cart to make space for Meggie. She landed in the haystack shortly after.

"Are you hurt?" Connor asked.

"No. You?"

"Neither."

"Sure? When I lost my fingers I didn't notice it until the blood rage was over and I discovered that the blood on my hand was my own. Only then I felt the pain."

Connor moved his fingers a little.

"I am all right," he replied.

They fell silent as they heard guards approaching. Someone shouted commands, sending his men in various directions. Countless pairs of boots and shoes tramped away.

"Same strategy as in Boston I think," he heard Meggie whispering just after the guards had left. "If the Ophelia is still there I will enter her and tell Nathaniel that I followed him to New York, believing that he could use my help here. I'll try to find out where the map is and distract Nathaniel and the captain, so you can steal it."

"What if Nathaniel has already figured out everything?" Connor said. "It is most likely him through whom Smith knew about the meeting. So what if Smith met him again and told him about us?"

"Then we'll have to fight."

"They could lure you into a trap and take you hostage. Like the other Assassins," he added, swallowing at the idea of having a seventh comrade being captured and maybe even tortured and killed later.

"Even if so - Nathaniel still loves me. He won't harm me."

"This man ordered the slaughter of his own order," Connor grumbled.

"Connor ..." Meggie's voice became harsh as well. "Are you worried, jealous or both?"

Connor promptly sat up, clenching his fist and completely forgetting about the risk of being discovered.

"How can I not be worried?" he hissed. "I have no reason to trust this man. And you - you trust him blindly!"

"Because we're friends!" Meggie sat up too. "We went through almost the whole war together! We were even more than friends! We were telling each other everything. Almost everything. We risked our lives to help each other. He'd never harm me."

"By helping me you are going to harm him. You have betrayed him already! There is no reason why he should not betray you as well!"

"Betrayal is a matter of perspective. I'm against his Templar ideology, but I never betrayed him as a friend! If he would become our captive, I'd treat him as well as I can."

Hearing this Connor's imagination produced a very unpleasant picture: Nathaniel treating Meggie as well as he could, not like a captive at all, but as a far too close friend. The two of them sitting alone on a Caribbean beach, watching the sunset and remembering the good old days, how they had risked their lives for each other, concluding that they should have ended up as a couple long ago. The next moment was even more unpleasant for Connor, for he discovered a completely new feeling: being ashamed of himself. Meggie had been right accusing him of jealousy. Connor bit his lip like a young boy, averting his eyes.

Then he felt Meggie taking both of his hands.

"Whatever happens, I'll be all right," she said smiling. Even in this darkness he could see her blush. "You will be there after all, won't you?"

"I will," Connor nodded, feeling his ears getting hot. In a sense, their conversation had turned incredibly slushy. But what was worse: He actually enjoyed it.

* * *

Connor was racking his brains with the wrong things. Instead of concentrating on the mission and being glad for making it to the Ophelia in time he was pondering about jealousy as he jumped from one boat or post to another, ending up hanging on the stern of the Ophelia right under the windows of the captain's cabin. He didn't like what he saw inside: Meggie and Nathaniel talking friendlily to each other, smiling. It was unbelievable that he used to dislike her only a week ago; for now he couldn't resist to note that she looked far too pretty with her hidden blades and Assassin coat left behind on the Aquila so that her stature wasn't veiled anymore. Just when had he started to see her as a woman in the first place? When had he begun staring at her thighs, her arms and, well, her bosom? Not to mention the freckles on her cheeks ... And why? He couldn't recognize himself.

And it puzzled him why jealousy wouldn't just leave him alone. There was no reason for it, was there? ... Even if Meggie didn't reciprocate Nathaniel's feelings she still could use them to manipulate him. Considering Meggie's talent for manipulation it wasn't unlikely that she could even go so far as to pretend to love him. Would she do such a thing, knowing that Connor was watching? From everything she had said and done it was obvious that she felt attracted to him. But how serious was she really? They knew each other for only one week, and Connor had to confess that jealousy was ridiculous in this situation. Yet he couldn't resist this horrible feeling and snarled silently because the closed window wouldn't allow him to hear the conversation.

Speaking of hearing and sounds ... Why was it so quiet on a ship about to leave? Noting this even blew all the jealousy out of Connor's mind for a moment. He had to check what was going on and leave Meggie and Nathaniel to themselves.

He slowly moved to the edge of the stern so he wouldn't be seen from the window when he entered the quarterdeck. It was deserted. Connor couldn't believe his eyes, sneaking towards the stairs and overlooking the main deck. Everything was silent and empty; nothing and nobody. No voices, no single sound as he approached the hatch leading to the gun deck. Silence and darkness as he opened it.

This ship wasn't about to leave at all. It _was _a trap in the end.

...

Meggie!

He spun around and hurried towards the captain's cabin, pressing his ear against the slot between the door and the wall. And finally! He heard Nathaniel talking.

"So you see, Meggie, John Smith didn't mean to betray you. He's not allied with me, and he's no idea of what's going on. All he knew were his orders to crush something he believed to be a conspiracy against the state, and he told me about you because he felt it was his duty to warn me and as part of his explanation why he had to interrupt our conversation earlier when he was told about the return of the Parrot. I even had to assure him that we're not enemies and that I don't intend to kill you. I think this fellow isn't sure if he considers you his arch enemy or best friend. Made quite a confused impression."

Connor dug his fingers into the wood. Yes ... Nathaniel knew everything. But why didn't he take Meggie captive?

"Learning about us tracking you, having these unexpected orders from Greencog, changing plans spontaneously and even managing to fool your old friend," Meggie's voice answered. "I didn't expect anything less from someone who made a rapid rise with his strategic talent."

A strange feeling spread in Connor's stomach. Slowly, quietly like poison. What if ... Was it theoretically possible that Meggie was on Nathaniel's side? That everything that happened had been an act to trap him? Was he fooled and betrayed once again? Not now ... Please not now ... Not Meggie ... Yet she knew Nathaniel for years. Why would she help Connor to fight her best friend? She would rather help her best friend to catch that naive Assassin who was doomed anyway. But what was about her attitude towards the Templar Order and her whole life story? Had all of this been a lie? Had she been lying to him all the time? When she held out her hand to him in Boston, when she put a blanket around him on the Aquila, when she kissed him before leaping into a haystack?

Something was bleeding inside his chest. It was only a thought, an idea without proof, but it hurt like a dagger piercing his heart. Like many daggers piercing his heart again and again, tearing it apart and piercing it once more. He had been deceived too often in his life. He couldn't bear any more treason.

"We're really impolite, by the way," another snatch of Nathaniel's talk found its way into Connor's ear, making him realize that he had missed part of the conversation with all the horrible ideas in his head. "We're sitting here inside, talking cheerfully, and poor Connor is somewhere outside, probably in a very uncomfortable position and suffering obdormition. I should invite him to come in. Where is he? Under the window? No. Then ..."

The door suddenly flung open, almost battering Connor to death.

"Oh! Here you are!" said a pale, smiling face appearing in front of him. "I'm so sorry for not inviting you earlier! My apologies, Connor. Please come in. Be my guest."

Connor just stared at him undecidedly. A trap? Anything could happen if he entered. He should finish Nathaniel off. Here and now. ... Yet he couldn't. If he did, he'd never find St. Robert Island. ... Or he would. He only had to search the Elmwood Manor. He didn't need Nathaniel.

He grasped his tomahawk.

"I wouldn't do this!" Nathaniel exclaimed, raising his arms, but without any sight of fear. "One of us will kill the other, but not tonight. I explained it to Meggie already - you probably didn't hear it: I ordered to burn down the Elmwood Manor. I'm your only hope to rescue your friends within the next twenty five to fifty years."

It could be a bluff. A bluff to make Connor obey. And the worst thing about this was that at the same time it could be the truth, so he had to obey and risk falling for it.

He lowered his tomahawk, snarling. "What do you want from me?"

"Only a talk. I've always wanted to meet you personally."

Connor didn't understand a single thing anymore. Was Nathaniel going to threaten him with the killing of his friends as the Templars had planned? Yet he had no choice. Even if he was going to be captured ... If this was the only way he would follow it.

"I'm glad you accept my invitation," Nathaniel cheered. "Come in, come in! Have a seat! Anything to drink?"

Connor didn't answer, entering the candle-lit room, an ordinary captain's cabin with a desk, a few cupboards and a cot. No one attacked him. Meggie was sitting in a chair behind the table, having a very relaxed expression until her eyes met Connor's. Seeing the gloomy stare he gave her she even leapt up, looking as if she was seeing a ghost. Then gloominess came into her own expression, and she narrowed her eyes in an insulted way. 'How dare you to think of me in this way?' he read in her face.

Connor couldn't decide what to feel at this moment: relief because his horrific ideas had proved wrong or hate against himself for suspecting her in betrayal? He wouldn't have had any suspicions some years ago. Incredible and terrific what he had become! What the war against the Templars had turned him into! He was losing his ability to trust ... And he felt sorry for it. He owed Meggie an apology.

He felt even worse than before, looking into this freckled face which would never betray him. She wouldn't. Just ... wouldn't! 'For at your side is where I belong ...'

"Connor, I can't breathe," she mumbled into his robes, making him realize that he was squeezing her against his chest with all his might.

He let go of the poor, perplexed Meggie and turned to an even more perplexed Nathaniel who apparently found himself stuck between shock and amusement.

"Aaalright," he said. "I've never thought that I would say this to anybody, but you two really surprised me. However, thinking about it ... Despite her philosophy Meggie always had a soft spot for idealists. Yet how did _you _come to like her that much? I mean - Do you have any idea of what a woman she is? It appears that even I didn't know her properly until her old friend John Smith told me about the Parrot."

For some reason Connor lay his arm around Meggie's shoulders as he turned his face to the lieutenant colonel. Yet this gesture didn't seem to arouse any interest in Nathaniel.

"Pretending to be the wife of George Washington, colonel back then ...," he said, pacing up and down. "Then pretending to be an illegitimate child of King George III. With the most ridiculous thing about this being that people actually believed her. ... Regularly stealing the city guard commander's breakfast. Indecently harassing sentries. ... I won't talk about all the smuggling affairs and slaughtering guards. This I understand, knowing that she's an Assassin. But the other accusations ... Meggie, seriously?"

Connor's gaze slowly turned back to Meggie. Indecently harassing guards, pretending to be a daughter of the British king ... It was a joke, right? It had to be!

But Meggie only shrugged. "You need to know the context."

"Well, I'm glad I _don't_ know it," Nathaniel replied, shaking his head. "Yet I'm afraid I have to believe this, knowing you as the lieutenant shouting at superiors, threatening army surgeons and refusing to accept promotion and medals while being one of our best fighters. You always had this tendency to behave a little bit strange ..."

Somehow ... Despite these facts being highly interesting Connor felt that the conversation wasn't what it originally was supposed to be. The ship was abandoned, the Elmwood Manor maybe was burned down, the enemy knew about the pursuit, and he definitely hadn't invited Connor to demonstrate him how well he knew Meggie. It also struck Connor that Meggie's smile and relaxation which were now in her face again had suppressed bitterness in them while her expression slowly turned weary. It wasn't an easy situation for her.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," he interrupted Nathaniel's flow of words.

The Templar looked up at him, frowning: "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I was too surprised. I mean, how long do you know each other? A week? I know her for years, and ... nothing." Nathaniel turned his gaze away, staring into the darkness outside the window. "I envy you in a way, Connor. We're similar, you and me, and still you have more than I."

"You envy me?" What for? For failing? For seeing his mother burn alive? For killing his own father? For killing his best friend? For having goals unachievable in one life?

"We are bastards," Nathaniel said. "All the three of us. We are bastards without a name, creatures that shouldn't exist. - You aren't white. Yet you are too white to be a real native. You're neither fish nor fowl, not belonging anywhere, a stranger here among us, and, after living with us for years, a stranger to your own people. And your real name isn't Connor, I suppose, yet no one calls you by it. So it vanishes."

Another one ... It was the second stranger analyzing his inner life at first encounter this week. Was it so obvious? Yet, well, Meggie had some similarities in her own biography, so it wasn't surprising that she had an idea of his feelings.

"Meggie's an illegitimate child like you," Nathaniel continued. "According to the list the old Colonial Rite used to keep, she was born into the Assassin Order which was destroyed when she was eight years old. This made her very lonely, I think. Not only because of the loss of her mother, but also because she was the only Assassin left in Boston. Her childhood had been very different from that of the other children. She had other beliefs and values, inheriting another culture than the Christian one. I'm sure she felt like a stranger among all those settlers. Moreover, she told me how she misses Europe. Probably that's because she never knew such loneliness there. Yet later ... I don't know why, but when she put on an Assassin hood she started to contravene the Assassin's Creed, using her talents for personal profit, often acting in full sight of everyone, and not being too careful with innocents. When she learned about you during the war she didn't care to rejoin the Colonial Assassins. And yet she turned back into an Assassin at your side. She's not a real Assassin, yet I also can't say that she's not an Assassin at all. She's the Parrot. Not an eagle, but still a bird. Such an ambivalent identity - and being only one of many. Do you know that her last name was changed four times in her life? First she was Meggie Collins, then Meggie Henderson. After her first marriage Meggie Lamb, after the second Meggie Tyler. And she's not even thirty yet! Names are so unstable ..."

Connor felt Meggie holding his hand, a little bit shakily. He squeezed her hand in response, stroking its back with his thumb. Nathaniel didn't get deterred by this, starting a new paragraph of his monologue:

"As for me, I don't even know where I come from. The only thing I was told was that my mother was a whore, and I suppose not even she knows who my father was. I also don't know how I came there, but I grew up in a family with very strict beliefs. There are many different Christians in this world: Some are nice and soft-hearted, others destroy everything that doesn't match their understanding of the oh so holy Bible. Unfortunately, my adoptive parents happened to be the latter type. In their eyes I was nothing but a walking sin with bones and flesh that had to be purified by punishment in order to become a proper human. So you can imagine what my life was like. I was called Matthew back then, named after the Apostle. I hate it. As for my family name, I even hate to pronounce it. Yet it isn't important, since I don't use both anyway.

"I ran away when I was seven. Gave myself a new name. Lived on the street. Saw many things. Injustice. Started to serve a few redcoats from time to time to earn money. With their help I became a soldier later. When the war started I deserted the British Army to fight for the Patriots, having high hopes then. I dreamt of a new nation, a country where everyone would live in peace and, most of all, equality. Where it didn't make a difference under which circumstances one was born, who one's parents were, what one's beliefs were and what colour of skin one had. I saw a chance in the revolution. A chance to build something new and beautiful. Yet I had to gain more influence to achieve my goal, and wartime is always useful to make a military career. So I worked hard, but the more I saw the more I realized that humanity isn't ready for my ideals yet. But I couldn't leave things like they were. And then, when I was wondering how to achieve peace, I met your father. What he said to me made more sense than everything I heard before. Control makes sense. If people aren't ready to live in peace by themselves they have to be taught by those in power. So ... Now you know how I became a Templar."

"But you betrayed the others," Connor snorted, trying to bring some order in Nathaniel's logic of similarity, bastards and namelessness. Why was the lieutenant colonel telling him all this?

"I betrayed them, not the Order. They are the true traitors. Traitors and idiots the Order does not need. Greencog promoted those who didn't understand our ideals properly. Those who weren't even members of the Order but only sympathizers. I'm one of the few proper members here in the north who were left after you killed Charles Lee. And now ... You saw how many we've become in only one and a half year, didn't you? The Templar Order has become pathetic. Someone has to make it what it's supposed to be. To rebuild it properly and make it strong again. For all the plantation owners and slavers ... They don't care for our ideals. The only thing they care for is personal profit, power and personal profit again. Did you notice all the prosperities in the Elmwood Manor? Everything through slavery. Through inhuman exploitation. This is not what our order is meant to support.

"Do you happen to know the Templar Creed, Connor? It is: _'Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam!' _- 'Not to us Lord, not to us, but to Your Name give the glory.' It means that everything we do we do in the name of the Lord of Understanding, of peace, our ultimate goal. Yet at the same time it reminds us to be humble. Not to get corrupted by power. So seeking personal profit through the Templar Order is actually nothing else than treason. It's a pain to see our ideals soiled by such scoundrels as the majority of Templars are. And this is why I envy you, Connor. Both of us are outcasts in a way, we know the bitter sides of life better than we like to, both of us failed in achieving our goals, but you have faithful followers, a whole homestead of friends, and you have Meggie. I only have my career which I'm proud of, but which still doesn't give me even the satisfaction of being someone in the end, an order full of unworthy morons and a family which I see too rarely. And, not to mention, you know who your mother and father were and where you come from. I can't deny that ... Master Kenway and I were never close, but sometimes I wished I could be in your place, being his son."

Connor had a hard time not to let his mandible fall all too deep. What would his father have said to that?

"I see your point concerning similarity," he said as soon as he regained his ability to speak. "Our lives are soaked with bitterness, and both of us sought justice, finding disappointment. Yet I do not think we are creatures that should not exist. I do not think we are nameless. For Achilles named me after his own son, so I consider it an honour. Even though it is not the name my mother gave me it is still my name, used by many wonderful people whom I am connected to by the bond of friendship. As for Meggie, she may have played many roles in her life, but she always stayed Meggie, preserving her true self, being a strong woman who refuses to give in even when surrounded by nothing but ruins. You - I do not know you well, but you, too, are not nameless. You chose your name yourself, and so you did with your path. You are Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Cross now. You have a purpose in life. You are someone."

Nathaniel smiled. An honest, warm smile. A Templar. Connor just had said comforting words to a Templar, even though they were meant as a dissent in order to defend himself and Meggie. Yet Nathaniel was also a human, despite ordering a massacre. If he hadn't killed the other Templars sooner or later Connor surely would have come for them.

"This is exactly what I mean," Nathaniel answered after a short silence. "We are bastards. Not belonging anywhere. Where other men are shaped by their heritage and environment we bastards are free to shape our lives as we please. To become whoever we want. To shape the world, change it, make it a better place. We are the only ones who are truly free, who deserve it, who can handle it. We have the only right to teach others the meaning of peace. We are strong. Both of us. The three of us. Can you imagine what we could accomplish together? If we unite?"

Connor shivered. He shivered with sadness and horror at the same time, hearing those familiar words spoken by a Templar.

"We could balance out our weaknesses with the strengths of the others," Nathaniel said. "For example, you, Connor, are a capable fighter, but you lack a sense for strategy and alliances. Former generations of Assassins used to be allied with thieves, street dancers and prostitutes who were useful for getting information and staying undetected more easily. If I were you I would have made Meggie's good friend John Smith my ally. He was deeply impressed by you, and I'm sure he would have loved to cooperate with a secret order fighting for justice. If you would have made him your ally and told him to keep your encounter secret and even to spy on me - oh, well, you would have trapped me. You would have got the papers you seek and you could decide freely whether I should live or die. But as things are now ... You should be thankful, for it was me who saved your fellow Assassins' lives. Greencog's original plan was to kill one after another, but I warned him that by doing so we would risk an open war against you. As long as your friends live we have some control over you. As long as a man has something to lose he's weakened. If we killed all your friends we would have killed your hope to save them - and this would have enabled you to unleash your full strength. Yet like this ... You are two strong fighters, armed, determined ... But you can't do anything to me. Trying to get the location of your friends by torture won't work, since even if I would have seen the papers - I'm not a sailor, so I can't read them. The papers were delivered to my captain who is not on this ship, as you might have noticed. And torturing me to find out his location wouldn't help you as well, for, I swear, I have no idea where he is. I suspected that Greencog would send me away, and when I learned about you pursuing me I ordered to leave the Ophelia and find another ship. As soon as I'm finished here I'll go to a secret meeting point where I'll be picked up and escorted to the new vessel. But don't think you can simply go to that secret place, even if you make me tell you its location. My escort won't show up if it's not me coming safely. And if I don't come the ship probably will leave anyway. Greencog's orders have to be accomplished after all. Sure there was much noise in New York this night, but I doubt that anyone except for us knows what it actually means yet, my captain included."

It seemed to Connor that Nathaniel even enjoyed his intelligence in a way. And he had every right to do so. If everything he said was true - then Connor and Meggie were trapped. Their lives weren't threatened, but the whole mission was about to fail. Stephane ... Duncan ... Dobby ... Clipper ... Jacob ... Jamie. Everyone lost somewhere in the Caribbean.

"We can unite, of course," Nathaniel said, smiling with superiority. "Then all the six hostages are yours."

Yes. This was what Connor had been afraid of all the time. Threats. Conditions. Impuissance.

Looking for help, his eyes met Meggie's. Yet there was no help at all in them. Only an idea Connor didn't like. The idea to lie. To pretend an alliance. This was the only weakness in Nathaniel's plan which wasn't a weakness at all, for Nathaniel knew that Connor wasn't a man who could pretend an alliance in order to stab his ally in the back later.

Impuissance. Damn impuissance as he had experienced it only once ...

'Mother, I am here. I am here. It is going to be fine.'

Heat. Lack of air. Sweat. And his heart beating so wildly that it hurt.

'No, my son. You must leave. Now.'

'Not without you.'

Too weak. Too weak to lift the wood.

'It's too late for that. You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You must be brave. You will think yourself alone, but know that I will be at your side. Always and forever. I love you.'

'NO! STOP! LET ME GO! LET ME SAVE HER! MOTHER!'

Connor switched his gaze back to Nathaniel. The heat was rushing through his veins. He wasn't going to let this happen again. Never.

"Connor!"

It was Meggie's voice that had squeaked. A strange, broken, rough squeak. And the creak of Nathaniel's joints. The gnashing of his teeth as Connor held his arms fast behind his back, forcing him in a crouched pose.

"You will lead us to the meeting point," Connor snarled. "You will tell me how to find your escort. And even if you do not tell me I will find them."

"Connor, he ..." Meggie stammered. "For heaven's sake, be careful! He's planned everything!"

"And I have Eagle Vision," Connor replied.

"You're going to kill us both, dammit!"

For a short moment Connor startled at her. Why? What could happen right now?

"Gambit ... gambit ..." Meggie mumbled, then suddenly ossified. "Down from this ship. QUICK!"

She grabbed Connor's arm, rushing out of the captain's cabin. Connor, still holding fast Nathaniel, trailed the teeth-crunching Templar outside. From the corner of his eye he noticed an hourglass on the desk with the sand having run through almost completely.

They left the cabin not a moment too soon. Connor had barely taken the first breath of the night air as an incredible force pushed him upwards, whirling him through the air. A cloak of heat covered his whole body, and a deep sound punched his ears.

Then water. Cold water flowing into his throat. Water everywhere. No above and below. Dark, black, cold water. And bright red flashes.

Connor moved. His head hurt as if someone had thrust a hatchet into it. Darkness, water, flashes and blur. Pain. He felt that he was losing his consciousness. He moved, struggling, swimming somewhere. Breaking through the surface.

He breathed air again. The next moment he grabbed a piece of wood, burning on its other end. The night was lit, illuminated, clouds of fire rushed over the water, making it glow and shine like lava. Everything flickered and appeared double, his head was bursting, in his ears it was ringing.

Yet he was alive, clinging to a plank, struggling against unconsciousness.

He was alive. He. But what was about ... Meggie?!

Connor shove the plank away, tuning around in the water, looking left, right, turning again, swimming through the lava full of burning wood.

"Meggie!" he yelled, paddling in a random direction. "Meggie!" he shouted, turning around once again and trying to see anything with his weak, unwilling eyes.

Not far away he saw a shadow hanging on a plank, its head shining red, surrounded by fire. He paddled faster, reached her, getting hold of her weak body. Her limbs were moving lifelessly in the water like that of a puppet.

Connor clasped her with his left arm, squeezing her against his chest. With his right arm he tried to swim while his clothes and weapons and Meggie's body were pulling him down under the water surface.

* * *

To be continued ...

Thanks for reading, following, faving, reviewing and sharing this fanfic! You're awesome!


	10. The Sun Still Rises in the East

**Chapter 10: The Sun Still Rises in the East**

"Connor ... Connor!"

Water on his face, a slap on his cheek and red light. Red light which turned out to be the sun shining through his eyelids. He was lying at the edge of a dock, surrounded by crates and barrels. The late spring morning's sun had dried his clothes and now was stroking his face. It was the only good feeling right now, for just as he opened his eyes a horrible pain hit his head. His whole body was weak and hurt, and he felt like throwing up.

He looked at the figure kneeling next to him.

"Valley?!" he gasped as he recognized her.

"Aye, it's me," said Valley, the rosy-cheeked daughter of the innkeeper Johann Meisser. "Thank goodness, you're alive! It took me ages to find you!"

"Meggie ... Where is she?"

Valley only took his hand and lay it on something soft. Connor turned his head, realizing that Meggie was lying right next to him. The ruffled, ginger hair covered half of her face, her lips were slightly opened, and the skin beneath her freckles was deathly pale.

"She's still unconscious ... or sleeping ... I don't know," Valley explained. "But she's alive, don't worry." Then she suddenly gave Connor a piercing stare. "Please don't tell me you were on that ship as it exploded!"

"We were," Connor replied.

"_Ach du meine _..." Valley whispered, forgetting about her perfect skill with the English language. "_Nein, nein! _I won't tell you what I found out for you now. First you need a doctor."

Yes ... He had asked Valley to provide information for him. But what could she have found out? Connor knew where the papers were. That they most likely had already left. Whether Nathaniel lived or not. Yet it was worth a try ...

He grabbed Valley's arm just as she was about to stand up and go to find a doctor.

"No. Tell me now."

She looked puzzled as her clear, blue eyes widened.

"A doctor would be a better idea. But as you wish ..." She took a breath. "Shortly after you left some sailors arrived, and I understood from their conversation that they were from the Ophelia. I talked to them a little, and they mentioned your lieutenant colonel. They said he was going to meet some guard officers or something like that. Then suddenly one of their own officers arrived and commanded them to return to the ship. He said that they had to bring all the supplies to another one called Cesare and that they were going to sail with her in future. Then he looked at me very strangely ... and asked the sailors whether they had talked to me. I kind of ... Well, I don't know. I realized that helping you might be more dangerous than I thought, but ... Do you know this feeling when you know that you should be afraid, but you just ... aren't?" She suddenly paused, shaking her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't get distracted ... Well, I was in this strange state, knowing that something would happen, and I was almost disappointed as nothing happened for the rest of the day. Until ... the explosion. My father ran outside to see what happened and told me to stay at home. Shortly after he left a man came. I don't know who he was. He just stood there with the hat hiding his face and told me that Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Cross instructed him to tell me that I was a stupid little girl meddling in affairs I don't understand. That I had to carry on now and deliver you a message from Cross. I was told to give you his best regards and ... this."

She reached into her cleavage, pulling out a small bundle of paper. Was it what Connor thought it was? His fingers were trembling as he grabbed the papers and unfolded them. He still felt ill, and his aching head blurred everything, but at least he didn't think about throwing up anymore. He was too busy with realizing the whole horror of the situation: Nathaniel was still alive, he most likely had left for the Caribbean on board of the Cesare, and he had sent Connor - yes, it were the papers showing the location of St. Robert Island. He knew that Connor was alive, and he wanted him to come to the Caribbean. He _knew _that Connor would follow. It was actually asking the victim directly to walk into the trap, knowing that the victim was aware of it, but would go into it nonetheless. Meggie was right. Nathaniel had planned everything, and he didn't even try to hide it.

"He told me that I would find you somewhere around here at the docks," Valley continued. "Then he left. And I started looking for you. For hours. Ages! I told you already. Really, you could have found a better place to lie around ..."

"I ..." The words, the things he had to say were fighting a fierce battle against each other. "I shouldn't have drawn you into this."

Valley only waved her hand. "This is the least thing you should worry about. Really. I was even about to ask you to make me your constant ally. To accept me into ... Whatever you're in with this entire conspiracy thing. As payment, remember? You promised ..."

She wanted - what?!

"You do not know what you are asking for," he said once he regained his speech.

"That's true," she said with a firm voice he didn't know from her. "But consider that I'm already part of this, that I'm useful for information, and that a woman who deals with drunken men - women-starved sailors! - all the time knows how to defend herself in case anything happens. To be honest, I was waiting for this opportunity for as long as I can remember. Someone like you can't be with the bad guys, and everything is better than serving beer and offering my boobs for gazes for the rest of my life."

She was really serious about it. And she was right. She had passed the point of no return already.

"I will think about it," he sighed. "But as for now, I have a request for you. Over there ... There is my ship. The Aquila. Ask for Robert Faulkner, my first mate. Tell him that it is me sending you and bring him here. Show him this, so he will believe you."

Connor removed the Shard of Eden from his finger, handing it to Valley. Her eyes started to sparkle curiously as she touched it.

"What about the doctor?" she asked, suddenly returning to the here and now.

"I am going to see him later," Connor said, and, facing her suspicious expression, added: "I promise."

"Alright then," Valley said, finally smiling with satisfaction. "I'll go and call Robert Faulkner." Then, without any warning, she laid her hand onto his chest. "Being so handsome should be forbidden," she chuckled. "You make me forget I'm already engaged."

Silence. And somehow ... It actually wasn't the first time he heard this. - Why?!

Valley stood up, completely ignoring him being dumbfounded. Yet before leaving she turned to him once again.

"In case your friend wakes up before I return say hello to her for me. Or is she more than a friend? You should take more initiative. Shy guys are cute, but we don't like too much hesitation."

* * *

"Well, she's still a woman."

"But she's the captain's."

"She's on this ship for a week now. - No, even more: She was already here when we sailed from Boston to New York. So it's about one and a half weeks by now. If she'd be the captain's he would've lost his virginity to her already."

"How do you know he didn't?"

"Honestly, lads. This is a small ship, and, with due respect, the captain's too honest to be a good actor. If he would've lost his virginity we'd know."

It took Connor all his might to move his fallen down mandible back in the right position. Of course, except for hardships like storms and battles and joys like seeing new places sailing was the dullest thing in the world. Many people jammed together on a small boat, nothing but sky and water as far as the eye can see, almost nothing to do for the most time and extraordinary bad food. Paradoxically, this strange contrast between adventure and absolute dullness for many sailors was one of the most important reasons to love the open sea. And, apart from that, nothing made a man happier than feeling solid land under his feet after ages of rocking on water, and nothing felt so refreshing like salty air and the blowing and howling wind of the Atlantic Ocean after staying on land for weeks and months. But for the most time, when nothing happened, sailing was boring, so Connor used to keep his men busy by making them clean the ship every day, just like any other captain did. Yet the size of the Aquila had its limits, and she had been cleaned today already. Sadly, it was quite unwise to put the sailors in a bad mood by making them clean the ship too often. They needed these little intervals of sweet idleness to tell each other stories about sea devils, to play dice, and, well, to gossip. Seriously, no one who claimed that gossiping was something only women did could have ever been on a long sea journey with dozens of sailors having nothing better to do than discussing their captain's virginity.

What made things worse was Meggie's presence. The Aquila didn't happen to have female passengers very often, so it was hardly surprising that she had grown the main object of the crew's interest. Some men simmered with excitement whether their captain was going to finally lose his virginity or not whereas others claimed that it wasn't going to happen, that the captain probably wasn't interested in women at all, and that they should try and win her heart themselves, so the journey to the Caribbean would be more ... entertaining.

Sometimes ... Yes, sometimes Connor just lacked ideas for proper punishment.

"So what are you up to, Johnny? She rejected Bill yesterday, and women like him actually."

"Well, it's still worth a try, isn't it?"

"Do whatever you want. I still disagree. She's the captain's, and she isn't even beautiful."

"Seriously? You care about beauty? You have at least three weeks of nothing but ocean ahead, a vagina on board, and you care about beauty?"

"C'mon! It's only four weeks of open sea, and one has already passed! Not the worst we went through."

"It's so useless to talk to you," Johnny grumbled as he turned away and walked towards the hatch leading to the main deck.

Connor sighed, stepping out from behind the stack of crates which had kept him hidden from the eyes of the sailors whose conversation he accidentally had happened to eavesdrop.

"Women on board make some men restless, sir," said Dan Morgan, the helmsman who was standing next to Connor. "But as for your request, here it is."

He passed a little wooden figure into Connor's hands. The captain nodded with satisfaction as he examined it.

"You made it well. Thank you," he said.

"Ah, that was nothing, sir. Just make her happy this night."

Well, this was just as bold as the other sailors' conversation, and somehow it even disabled him to get angry.

"I ... It is not my intention ..."

"You can do it, captain! I believe in you!"

Connor couldn't remember having ever been so helpless towards his own subordinates. Just where were they getting these incredible amounts of impertinence from?! They had never allowed themselves to talk to him like this earlier.

He was about to say something, but Dan was already heading towards the main deck. He had had a little free time as yet, but now he had to take up his station at the wheel, leaving his poor, overwhelmed captain to his shock. So instead of punishing the helmsman Connor hurled his angry stare at Johnny's former collocutors who shrank back as they realized that the captain had been listening all the time. Satisfied with this little victory, Connor followed Johnny and Dan to the main deck, manoeuvring between crates, barrels, nets, cannons and swaying lanterns.

Once his head slipped through the hatch and bright sunlight fell upon his skin he saw that Meggie was sitting cross-legged on a crate, leaning her back against the mainmast and reading one of the books she had bought in New York. Or rather: She obviously had been reading until she got interrupted by Johnny who had drawn himself up to his full height in front of her.

"Well, I have to admit, ma'am, you look a little bit lonely," he was saying as Connor approached.

"Oh, is that so?" Meggie raised her eyes at him. "May I ask what you're getting at?"

Johnny smiled. "My only intention is to offer you my company. I promise I'll do my best to make this journey as enjoyable as possible for you."

Meggie only furrowed her brow.

"Did our Lord bless you with legs, sweetheart?" she asked after a short pause.

"I think so, ma'am."

"Then use them."

This appeared answer enough. Johnny sighed, shrugging and then walking back in the direction of the hatch. He nodded respectfully to Connor as he passed. Apparently, he had no idea that the captain had been listening as he gossiped over his virginity.

"You inherited something very British from your father," he suddenly heard Meggie addressing him.

Connor looked at her quizzically.

"You queue," Meggie grinned. "Just like the others. This ship is full of restless cocks."

"I am sorry for the behaviour of my crew," Connor said, stepping nearer.

"That's alright. They're not rude or something. Just ... restless."

Connor felt a little relieved. Meggie seemed quite annoyed by all the attention towards her, but thankfully she wasn't angry with his men. She had to endure them for three more weeks after all.

"I did not queue to keep you company, and I do not want to distract you from reading," he said, holding the wooden figure out to her. "I only wanted to give you this."

A surprised smile spread on Meggie's face, and her cheeks flushed. His men may say what they wanted - for him, there was beauty in those freckles.

"In New York you asked me for a donkey."

"So you ..." Meggie grabbed the figure and examined it with an even childish excitement. "Oh, these tiny eyes and these ears! And the tail! It's lovely! Thank you! You didn't make it yourself, did you?"

"No, I did not," Connor admitted. "It was Dan Morgan, the helmsman. Mr. Faulkner and I used to steer the ship ourselves, but when I got wounded as I chased Lee I was not able to do it for a long time, and Mr. Faulkner is a mortal man who needs food and sleep and also has his obligations as first mate. So I decided to hire a helmsman. A little bit later we discovered that Dan has one more talent." He pointed at the wooden donkey.

"So you accept me as your Sancho ..." Meggie blushed even more as she suddenly stood up, laying her hand on his left cheek, kissing the right one.

Sheep and gunpowder ... A turkey wearing an Assassin hood ... Turkey ... Turkey ...

"Tell me ..." She whispered, still standing close to him, and without removing her hand from his face. "What shall I think of a man who pounces on me with kissing after knowing me for not more than a week, and then avoids me?"

Assassin turkey ... He laid his hand on hers, forcing it to stay on his cheek - despite knowing that he shouldn't do it.

"The same, I guess, as I shall think of a woman who claims that she would never seriously try to come closer to me, but ends up overwhelming me with compliments, kissing me in return and touching my face like this."

Just why had Meggie to look at him with these eyes, standing so close to him, pressing her breasts against his chest ... More than anything else, _this _should be forbidden!

Assassin turkey ... It was like a conspiracy against him. Certain parts of his body were very serious about taking revenge for being neglected for so many years. Even the smallest stimuli had an enormous effect now, so the absurd image of an Assassin turkey wasn't enough to get other thoughts anymore. He shouldn't have kissed her, for it had been the beginning of all this ... It wasn't like his body hadn't reminded him of being a grown man earlier, but it never had been so hard to suppress. Apparently, his body had interpreted the first kiss as kind of an encouragement.

Living with Meggie in the same cabin made the situation even more difficult. Not only that she was around more often than it was bearable, but he also remembered that incident when he entered it, finding her stripped to the waist. Since then he knew about the parrot tattoo and the scar of a graze on her back, as well as about the scratch on her right upper arm and the rosiness of her nipples. Of course Connor had seen bare female breasts earlier, since Mohawk women used to leave their upper bodies uncovered during summer, but ... Meggie's pink breasts and her rosy nipples had kept his mind occupied for the past few days nonetheless. It was so pathetic ... Connor felt like the greatest idiot of all times.

"I did not avoid you ... I ..."

What was he trying to say? He _had _been avoiding her.

"I see," Meggie said, letting her hand slide down onto his chest. "Your little Connor has developed a will of his own ... Or is it rather a little Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

Hearing his real name, Connor looked at her in surprise.

"Did I pronounce it right?" she cheered. "I never thought I could learn it. But don't expect me to use it often. It's still too difficult. So ..." She turned serious again. "What's the matter? You're a healthy man, so it's only natural. And I told you already that I couldn't say no to someone like you, didn't I?"

"It is still ..." Connor paused, searching for the right words. Just why ... It was such an awkward conversation! "It is wrong. I cannot ... I am an Assassin. I am not a man who can have a ... love ... relationship ... to a woman."

Meggie only smiled. "Then I have to destroy your illusions. I'm afraid that love, intercourse and relationship have nothing to do with each other. You can love somebody without ever coming close to that person. You can fuck someone without even knowing this person's name. And you can be even married to someone without loving this person and, yes, also without carrying out your duty as a husband. Fortunately for you, I'm not a woman who would like to have a love relationship. I had a few, and I'm sick of it for reasons perfectly known to you. So as I understand this situation we both have a certain desire, we both don't want it to become anything bigger and we have at least three weeks ahead. Maybe even more if we survive the trap. Upon our return I'll take the next ship back to Europe - England, France, Spain - doesn't matter. You'll continue chasing your unfulfillable dreams. We have a consensus, you see."

Connor opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say. 'I would not have come far if I always would have done what I should.' His own words ... And still, it was wrong!

"Think about it," Meggie said. "I could try and seduce you, but I don't think you're the type for this. So I'm telling you directly: Think about it. I'll accept any answer of yours. Just don't forget one thing: three weeks. If we survive one month more. After that we'll never see each other again, keeping only memory. The decision is up to you: Something nice to remember or ... dying a virgin. I know you well enough to know that this is what's going to happen. And holy shit, what is this slutty crap I'm saying!"

She gave him a pat against his chest, turned around, picked up her book and the donkey, and walked towards the captain's cabin. She knew what to say. She always did ... Not about dying a virgin but about never seeing each other again. He liked her; he couldn't hide it from himself anymore. He should enjoy the little time he had with her as much as he could without being afraid of the consequences, for there wouldn't be any, since they would part forever either by death or the ocean ...

"Bloody hell, what was that?"

Connor spun around, finding himself looking in the face of Robert Faulkner.

"You heard everything?"

"Aye, accidentally," Mr. Faulkner grumbled. "There's need to talk about our water supplies, but I'm afraid you have more urgent business right now. See? This is why a woman on board brings bad luck. The crew is twitchy, the captain is distracted ... What's happening to you, boy? I've never seen you like this before!"

Connor bit his lip, being perfectly aware of his fault. After all those years failing like this ...

"You know what to poke into what, do you?"

Mr. Faulkner hadn't really said this, had he? Connor stared at him, for the first few moments unable to understand the words. Then, slowly, they crept into his consciousness, pressing his brain together with their cold hand.

"I - I know that!" he replied, feeling his ears getting hot.

"Good," the first mate nodded. "You still have wine in your cabin to sterilize your water, don't you? Take a swig or two if you're nervous. And when we meet again I expect to see a fully operational captain."

And with this he jogged Connor in the direction of the captain's cabin. Even Mr. Faulkner was part of this conspiracy ... However, his 'little Ratonhnhaké:ton' liked it. Very much even. In his head one Mohawk curse plopped after another, words of which he had thought he would never use them. This was ... This was the end of all things.

In this moment of desperation something even more horrible happened: The cabin's door opened, and, having stored her things inside, Meggie was about to step out, but remained in the doorframe, stone-still. Her deep set green eyes and those crimson lips ... The freckles and the reddish shade on her cheeks. Ginger strands and the straight nose.

Whatever she had planned to do with the afternoon had to wait. He twined his arms around her body and sealed her mouth with his lips, pushing her back inside.

* * *

"You savage," said Meggie, breathing against his chest. "No flowers, no corny poems comparing me to an angel, no moonlight serenades under my windows and no senseless duelling to win my heart. Just brutally taking what you want."

Connor sighed. It may have been him who had pushed her into the cabin, but it had been _her _who had pushed _him _onto the bed. Yet he knew her well enough by now to not feel insulted by being called a savage, knowing that it was meant as a compliment. And even if it wouldn't have been her ... There were too many people calling him like this, so if he would get mad at everyone who called him names the United States would be an empty country by now. So one day he had decided to just ignore such comments. As for now, however, he even smiled.

"Look at yourself," he replied, getting an understanding for her game little by little.

Strange. All of this. There had been so much talk about him being a virgin, but now, having lost his virginity, he was still the same man he had been before, the Aquila was rocking on the waves as always, and he expected the sun to rise in the east the next morning, just as it used to. Some things, however, _had _changed. Meggie had turned more beautiful than before, even though Connor couldn't name the cause for this; the whole world suddenly felt much more friendly, and the hard, narrow bed had turned surprisingly comfortable. Everything was strangely peaceful.

The only thing that interrupted this beautiful feeling was Meggie sliding from his chest in order to lie down next to him, and dismissing him from her warm inside into the cold.

"A nice round," she said, grinning. "We both needed it, I guess. But now, that we handled the emergency ... I warn you: Don't expect to get any sleep this night."

There was something friendlily evil about her smile. Her head was obviously busy with plotting some kind of another conspiracy, making him feel torn apart between curiosity and nervousness. Surely he would need his wine ...

Wine ... Mr. Faulkner ... Water supplies. All at once reality lashed into him, and he made a silent grumble.

Meggie's face appeared above him again. "What's wrong?"

"Water supplies," he said. "I have to talk to Mr. Faulkner about them. I am sorry I cannot stay."

"I understand," Meggie sighed. "You're the captain, and you have responsibility. Go then, go, my gliding eagle."

Connor gazed at her. 'Gliding eagle?' Surprising, but definitely not the worst thing a man could be called ... He gave her a last smile, stood, and started to pick up his clothes lying everywhere about the room.

* * *

To be continued ...

I admit, imagining and describing Connor being flooded with hormones was just as hard as it was fun. ;) So this was it, the 10th chapter, the end of the second third of the story. Not much happened, but ... Let's say: Enjoy horny Connor for as long as you can. In the next few chapters there will be some bloodshed. ;)

Thanks for reading, faving and everything! *hug*

PS: I know that the stereotype of the queueing Britith didn't exist in the 18th century. I just couldn't hold it back, since it's one of my very favourite stereotypes. So I'm sorry. ;)


	11. Smoke and Water

**Chapter 11: Smoke and Water**

"Peace, Kanen'tó:kon!"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton. Come to kill me yourself?"

"Stop!"

"I will. When you are dead."

He killed Kanen'tó:kon. Then he awoke. The smell of burning wood lay in the air, his head ached, and everything blurred before his eyes. He stood, then ran - ran through the smoke towards the rush of fire and cries. A wild red light danced around his village, bright and hungry, eating everything that came in its way. Shadows were moving, running about, screaming. "Mother!" he cried, but no one answered.

Then he awoke. There was smoke around him, screams and the thunder of cannons. For the first few moments he couldn't understand what was going on, but then his consciousness triumphed over his headache, and he remembered.

"Need to get ... inside the fort ... I am in no condition ... to fight ... need to stay ... away from the guards ..." he mumbled, trying to get back on his feet and walk, supporting himself against the wall.

Suddenly a shadow appeared, looking at him and pressing its hand against its neck.

"Don't think I have any intention of caressing your cheek and saying I was wrong," his father said. "I will not weep and wonder what might have been. I'm sure you understand. Still, I'm proud of you in a way. You have shown great conviction. Strength. Courage. All noble qualities. I should have killed you long ago."

Then he awoke. He was on board of the Aquila, in the here and now. Finally ... Just a nightmare. He sighed with relief, wiping off his sweat. Then he turned to Meggie who was lying next to him, sleeping. Connor touched her naked shoulder. It was cold as ice. And blue.

A horrible premonition crept into his mind, and he started up. Yes, indeed, he was covered in blood. The whole bed was covered in blood, coming from her throat.

"No ..." he whispered.

Just how could this happen? Who did this? It made no sense ... It had to be a bad joke. He grabbed her lifeless body, and this time he shouted.

"No!"

Then he awoke. Flames danced around him as he tried to lift the beam.

"It's too late for that," said Mother's beloved voice. "You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You must be brave. I love you."

Then he awoke again. His wound still caused so much pain that he could barely walk. When he reached his village he found it deserted.

A new awakening. Was it ever going to stop?! He walked through the Davenport Manor, finding Achilles sitting in his chair. His hat had shifted.

"Old man ... Achilles!"

Achilles didn't react as he shook his shoulder.

Another damn awakening. "Give me _meinen lieben Jacob_ back ..." demanded Wihelmina Zenger.

As he awoke once again a shrill cry rent the air. Connor spun around and saw something that made him realize his failure: A very big and strong man had grabbed Diana and was holding a knife to her throat. She looked pale and paralyzed as if frozen in time.

Stop ... Finally stop!

A seven year old child was threatened with a knife. Somehow Connor knew that it was his son. Yet as he looked up at the young man threatening the child he realized that it was his son too. His older son who was a Templar.

One more awakening. He was all wet as if he had just come out of water. Which wasn't the case, actually. He was in his cabin on the rocking Aquila. Grey twilight seeped through the windows. Meggie was lying next to him, sleeping. She had turned her back towards him, so the parrot on her right blade bone now watched him coming back to reality. If it really was reality, of course. Connor reached out his hand, touching her naked shoulder. It was piglet pink and warm. So it had to be reality. Or was it just a good dream after all those nightmares, reviving happy memories while she actually was dead?

He couldn't bare it anymore. He sat up, then stood and walked across the cabin, taking a bottle of wine from one of the cupboards and pouring some into a mug. The rest of it he filled with water, blowing a few strands of hair out of his face. Unbelievable how the little hair that was left since he wore the war haircut was still able to be in the way!

He picked up the ribbon lying on his desk, and, holding it between his teeth, stepped to the window, jamming his hair in a ponytail. It was misty outside, so the windows seemed to be covered with white linen, the pale, fragile sun of the early morning shining through it like a ghost. Which really fit the circumstances. After all, it was going to be a sinister day. For they were going to reach St. Robert Island.

Connor took a sip from his mug, recollecting numerous discussions with Meggie and Robert Faulkner. They had agreed with his suspicion which he had tried not to think about during the first two weeks of the journey. The hazy, little notion that it might have been Nathaniel - or rather his men - who had pulled him and Meggie out of the water after the explosion back in New York. At any rate, he couldn't remember reaching the shore by himself. Moreover, Nathaniel's man had told Valley to look for Connor and Meggie around the docks, so how did he know that the two Assassins were still alive? And if all this was true: Why had Nathaniel, a Templar, saved them instead of letting them drawn, pulling them out of the water and killing them afterwards or at least capturing them? Hadn't he tried to kill - or leastwise hurt - them with the explosion? Or had it been nothing more than a distraction to escape? Then why had he left the papers to Connor?

It was a trap, of course, but what if the captives weren't even on St. Robert Island anymore? What if Nathaniel had moved them to another hideout? Nothing was sure now ... Except for the fact that his affair with Meggie was probably about to end.

His head turned in her direction by its own will. Now that he had left the bed she had turned onto her back, occupying it completely and displaying her naked upper body, shining pallidly in the twilight with her chest moving peacefully up and down. How did they manage to fit on that narrow cot together anyway? Connor had kept asking himself this question for weeks, experiencing this paradox every night and still not getting it. He also didn't understand why he kept sleeping in that bed with absolutely no space to lie more or less comfortably and thus painful consequences every morning instead of choosing the hammock on the other side of the room as he had used to before their affair had started. It was true what some people said about love: It _did _make people irrational.

Connor took another sip, remembering the great effect their affair had had on the crew. Of course everything had been noticed, and what followed was talk about the captain's meanwhile lost virginity and speculations about his skill in bed. And it's pretty self-evident that this wasn't even the worst, for it had turned out that almost every man on board of the Aquila had been involved in at least one bet. And to make this even more awful: Dan Morgan, the helmsman, and - yes, as much as Connor wouldn't believe it - Mr. Faulkner had won quite a fortune by betting that the captain would lose his virginity before he turned thirty, claiming that by participating they only had tried to defend his honour. Well, this explained why they had been so eager to see Connor being taken care of by Meggie, but ... Even Mr. Faulkner?! It was still a mystery to Connor how Meggie managed to laugh all this away. As for him, his patience had reached its end long ago, and during the past three weeks the rules on board of the Aquila had been stricter than ever.

He took a deep gulp to flush this horrible memory away. Of course his men had meant it well in their own, perverted way, for they wouldn't care so much about his personal life if they didn't like him, but one had to respect the privacy of others after all! Especially when it was about to end so soon and the captain secretly longed for it to continue, to have a couple more days to lay his head onto Meggie's lap while listening to her reading aloud 'Robinson Crusoe'.

Yet time was over. The three weeks full of peace and tenderness had passed by, and, given that they were heading into a trap, most likely it was over forever.

Once again he glanced at her, feeling his heart cramping, squeezing the life out of itself. Remaining convulsed as it failed to say goodbye.

Then, suddenly, a bell rang.

* * *

The captain peered through the clouds hanging far too low over the water. Searching the sea of whiteness with his telescope he finally spotted the tip of a mast approaching with remarkable speed. According to the sailor who raised the alarm there was the Cesare, a frigate, accompanied by two more frigates, a man-of-war and numerous brigs and schooners. Of course this was only what the man believed to have seen as the fog had moved for a second, but St. Robert Island was a Templar stronghold, so Connor had expected to meet a fleet here.

He put away his telescope and leapt down from the crow's nest under the surface of the mist cloud, reaching out and getting hold of some ropes, then letting go and landing on the main deck.

"Did you see anything?" asked Mr. Faulkner, shouting against the trampling of countless feet, commands and men getting ready to fight.

"No," Connor admitted. "But I believe Beck. I saw a mast -"

He was interrupted by a clap of thunder and a splash.

"A warning shot," the first mate said. "They want us to surrender."

Sure they wanted it. Expected it even, for they were many.

Connor didn't answer for a few seconds, thinking and staring into space, and then he gave Mr. Faulkner a firm look.

"We cannot see them which means they cannot see us," he said slowly. "We will attack."

"But that's a whole damn fleet, and we don't even know how big it is!"

"Would you have me surrender?"

"No. Try and escape, then approach stealthily."

"They know this area much better than us, Mr. Faulkner. I doubt we can escape."

"A mad bastard as always." The first mate rolled his eyes and gave Connor something that obviously was supposed to look like a crooked smile, but ended up a bitter grimace. "Yet an attack is probably the least they expect. So let's show them what the Aquila is capable of!"

Connor nodded, then headed back to his cabin, leaving Mr. Faulkner behind to pass the commands to the crew. He had to get dressed completely before the fight, wearing only trousers and a shirt right now.

"What's happening? Have we reached the island?" Meggie asked as he entered. She was pulling on her boots.

"Not yet," Connor replied. "But we are close, and their fleet came to meet us. We are going to attack them, so stay here."

"To be afraid of what might be going on outside?" she snorted, throwing on her coat. "I'm not a crew member to accept your commands."

"You will be in the way."

She only gave him one of her unimpressed looks. "I'll give my best to avoid that, and I'll be useful when it comes to close combat."

Her voice sounded even rougher than usual, and her mandible came decisively forward, indicating that even his cheekbones weren't an argument now.

Connor opened his mouth, but suddenly realized that he was going to shout at her just as he had done with Achilles a few times. Why did this situation make him so angry? She could look after herself, and she was a capable fighter ... After all, the cold killer he met five weeks ago was the same woman who used to smile at him, caressing his cheek, eventually kissing him. To sneak up on him from behind in order to surprise him with a hug, asking him to sing something he remembered from his childhood. It was the same woman who used to play with her targets, who was used to killing, who didn't care about morality.

She had this side, and she didn't care much about how he felt seeing her fighting. Maybe ... It was painful and unavoidable, but maybe it was really better if their ways parted. There were already enough nightmares in his life.

* * *

"Left side - fire!" he shouted down to the main deck, eventually holding up his telescope. He and two other men were in the crow's nest, the only spot on the Aquila from where anything could be seen. The fog was thinning out, but now the air was filled with clouds of smoke, and he had to keep the overview over the outnumbering enemy. Three schooners, a brig and a frigate were down by now, but there were still plenty of others, and especially the man-of-war was causing trouble. Whenever he dared a glance down instead of at the sea he saw the main deck getting covered more and more with splinters. The Aquila couldn't fight this fleet forever.

Moreover, there were cannon balls coming from somewhere else, from a fixed spot above. It had to be a fort, and, indeed, Connor had spotted a high grey shadow to the east, but it was out of reach for the cannons of the Aquila. The only thing he could do about it was -

"HEADS DOWN!" he yelled along with the other two men as they saw flashes at the top of it, falling back against the mast and lifting their arms over their heads. Connor heard three cannon balls darting past him, countless splashes and ... the breaking of wood. It felt like the Aquila gave a wince of pain.

"They hit the bow, captain!" he heard Mr. Faulkner shouting up.

"How bad?"

"Seems like we can fix it, but -"

The Aquila slanted forward.

"We need time!" Mr. Faulkner finished as he regained his balance.

It couldn't continue like that. Connor left the man next to him in charge by patting his shoulder and jumped down, reaching out for ropes. Form the corner of his eye he saw Meggie standing by the railing and aiming with a rifle. For a second he felt a needle stitch in his heart.

"Two brigs!" someone screamed.

"Fire!" commanded the voice of the officer David Clutterbuck, and the Aquila made a jolt as the cannons thundered.

As soon as Connor got back on his feet he speeded past David and under the deck, then down one more deck, then to the very bottom of the ship. Men were running about, crewing pumps. Others were carrying wood and tools, and a crowd tried to cover up a hole at the front. Splinters, ropes and an old boot floated at the height of Connor's calves.

"Seems like we can do it, cap'n!" a man said, saluting as he passed by.

Connor nodded, turning around and heading back to the main deck.

"We should get closer to the fort," he said, stepping to Mr. Faulkner.

"But we can't -" The first mate ossified for a second as it struck him. "The blind angle ... But it's still dangerous, sir."

"DOWN! DOWN!"

Connor and Mr. Faulkner went down on their knees, struggling for their balance as the waves shook the vessel. Somewhere nearby wood splintered, and a man howled, pressing his hand to his right eye. The next moment Connor realized that something bit his cheek, and his sleeve suddenly had three holes, but luckily the splinters had darted past his arm without hurting it.

"We do not have another choice," he said, standing up and squeezing his sleeve against the cheek to stop the bleeding.

"You can drop me there," Meggie said, standing next to Connor all of a sudden. "There's a rock, isn't it? I can try and climb it, then attack the fort."

Connor stared at her. "Alone?!"

"Don't forget whom you're talking to," Meggie grunted. "And I'm sure you'd do the same if you weren't needed here."

The glare in her eyes warned him that this issue wasn't going to be discussed. Yet she wasn't in the position to command! He returned her angry look and was about to say something as he surprisingly felt her lips against his own.

"I'll be alright, and I expect the same of you," she whispered in his ear.

He gazed in her green eyes, recognizing the warmth of the past three weeks in them. Just what ..? This was too ... And why? There was a whole volley of needle stitches.

"If she's as skilled as her mother was she can do it," Robert Faulkner said with a mixed expression on his face. Something between bitterness and respect. "Emma killed two Templar henchmen by rammin' a teaspoon in their temples. Stabbed the third one with his own sword. Her last fight before she got arrested."

Listening to this, Connor still gazed in Meggie's cruelly freckled face, then, finally, he nodded.

* * *

The most important thing about this was feeling. Feeling the ship, having the Templar fleet to the right and a cliff to the left. Connor steered the Aquila himself, commanding to fire to the right and at the same time looking at a ledge in the rock, right at the height of the mainmast where Meggie was sitting, ready to jump.

"All heads down!"

The man-of-war fired, and again wood splinters darted around, the Aquila quivered, and the mainmast fluctuated. Meggie wasn't there anymore as Connor looked up again. Instead, a small figure had appeared on the ledge, making a waving sign and starting to climb.

It was done. With all those needles in his chest Connor couldn't do anything but hope. Hope for her to survive. He turned the wheel like mad, just to bring the Aquila away from the cliff. Here she was save from the fort, but she couldn't manoeuvre so close to the rock. His men were running around, repairing the damages as fast as they could, being hit by splinters and bullets, falling over board and being squashed by cannon balls. Even if Meggie succeeded to silence the fort, they still had so fight the man-of-war, one frigate and several brigs and schooners. If at least the man-of-war could be defeated ... But with all the other ships supporting her it was impossible. She needed special care while the Aquila took on the rest of the fleet.

* * *

The sea itself was sarcastically silent and peaceful. Nothing compared to what happened on its surface. Burning ships, burning wood, burning men, shouts and blood, thunder of cannons and the creaking of wood. Sailors floundering in the water for survival.

The fog had cleared out completely by now, but there was much more smoke than before. However, Connor could still see enough to read the name Lucrezia on the man-of-war's stern as the Aquila circled her. She lay on the water, wounded. Her mainmast pressed part of her deeper into the water, stretching itself out to the left side with its tip under the surface and men helplessly clinging to it. It was the work of the Aquila's cannons, for the fourth attempt to bring down the mainmast had proved successful. It had crashed down, burying some men under it.

The Aquila volleyed to the left, hitting a schooner, and the same moment Connor passed the wheel back to Dan Morgan. He headed to the main deck, to the railing, to be precise, stumbling over a corpse which turned out to be Johnny, one of the men who had tried to keep Meggie company. And there were more corpses on the deck. Lots of damage. Indeed, it could be considered a miracle that the Aquila was still intact.

She was coming past the mainmast now - the opportunity Connor had been waiting for. Robert Faulkner was in charge of the ship now while the captain leapt easily over board, landing on the broken mast. The crew of the Lucrezia had a hard time removing it from their ship in order to regain balance, and they weren't too happy about the enemy captain careering along it with a drawn pistol and tomahawk.

Connor relied on his Shard of Eden as they took out their rifles. He shot the man closest to the mainmast, then took a leap and landed on another sailor, thrusting the tomahawk into his chest. Then he took out his sword.

The same moment something far above exploded, and from the corner of his eye Connor saw burning human figures falling down the cliff.

* * *

The fortress' name was Fort Rodrigo, and it belonged to the southern branch of the Templar Order. Apparently, the southern Templars didn't know about Nathaniel's deeds in the north yet, for they had agreed to help as he called upon them. But now their fleet was defeated, and the fort was under Meggie's command. She had destroyed half of the gunpowder stored inside, sending several mercenaries to the next world. After that, the killing of the most officers and the hostage-taking of the commander the fort had surrendered to her and obeyed her command to open fire against the Templar ships. Actually, most men had been surprisingly quick about switching their loyalty. It had turned out that they had been paid badly during the past few weeks, and Meggie had promised them a share of whatever she and Connor would find on St. Robert Island. It was said that the Templars used to store some of their prosperities there, so the men had high hopes about serving their new commander.

They also had agreed to answer all of Connor's questions: Yes, the map Nathaniel had sent him was wrong, for it didn't have Fort Rodrigo on it, so apparently luring the Aquila near the fortress and the Templar fleet had been the trap. And yes, St. Robert Island did exist, its location on Connor's map was correct, and there seemed to be important prisoners. No, despite the fact that Fort Rodrigo had been built in order to protect St. Robert it was unlikely that the men in the hideout knew the outcome of the battle, since seeing what exactly was happening near the next island had always been a problem here. As for a doctor for the wounded, they felt sorry to disappoint him that apart from the one on board of the Lucrezia who was killed during the battle there was only a doctor on St. Robert, so his life had to be spared during the infiltration.

The crew of the Lucrezia, too, had turned out to be cooperative, showing great respect towards the single man who defeated them. After they had surrendered to Connor and the battle was won by the pooled forces of the Aquila, the fort and the cannons of the Lucrezia, they had helped to fish the survivors and the dead out of the water. The wounded were taken care of together as well as it was possible without a doctor. Connor's men and the mercenaries had no reason to hate each other. They had had a battle, and now they cleaned up the mess together.

Connor knew that he and his men had done the impossible. But despite that and all the respect he had gained he felt something heavy in his belly telling him that everything had gone wrong.

"The mercenaries offer their help to conquer St. Robert," Mr. Faulkner said, stepping next to him and looking down the cliff at the remains of the Templar fleet floating in the sunset-lit bay.

Connor shook his head.

"I will go alone," he said. "Too many died already."

"But -" the first mate gasped. "I know it's not the first time for you, but they say the fortress on St. Robert is a labyrinthine cave-system. It's huge, and it'll take time to find the prisoners if you go alone."

"I know," Connor only replied. Forty seven dead men on both sides were enough. Not to mention all the guards of New York he had killed, and the Templar massacre which wouldn't have happened if Nathaniel wouldn't have been desperate. How many had died by now, only because he was trying to save six lives?

"Ah, before I forget," Robert Faulkner spoke again. "Margaret wanted to talk to you too. She said she'd come as soon as she finishes talkin' to the garrison of the fort."

Connor nodded, and Mr. Faulkner left. Forty seven were dead; even more, most of the wounded, would die during the next few hours. He felt his knees weaken and sat on the grass. During the Revolutionary War he had been fighting for freedom. What was he fighting for now? What did all those men die for? For the Assassin Brotherhood? After all, it was his duty to protect it. The Brotherhood had to be preserved, so it could continue fighting for the freedom of humanity. Apart from the welfare of the world it also had to fight for its own existence. Just as the Templar Order had done as they captured his fellow Assassins, just as Nathaniel thought he was fighting for the Order by clearing it from what he believed to be bad influence.

'There is no injustice in this world,' he remembered Meggie's words, spoken seemingly so long ago. 'As well as there isn't, never was and never will be justice. It's an illusion, created by idealists like you. The only thing that is really there is the desire to live and survive. Everyone is just living and surviving as good as he can. And he's right to do so. He has his own way of life. It doesn't make him guilty.'

So he wasn't guilty for all these deaths? If he was fighting for the survival of his order ..? No, even that didn't allow him to kill more men than it was necessary. He should have looked for another way. There must have been one ... To reduce the deaths ...

Especially considering that ...

"You're not going alone," a rough voice proclaimed, and as he turned his head he saw Meggie sitting next to him with her hair rumpled and her robes covered with blood and dust. She was alive, but for some reason the silent needle stitches refused to stop.

"I am," he replied, looking back at the bay. "I do not want more people to die. I will infiltrate St. Robert, kill Nathaniel and free the Assassins."

"You're not serious, are you?"

"I am."

"Well," Meggie said, leaning back on her arms and looking up to the sky, "to infiltrate St. Robert by stealth may be the best idea. If we can make up a proper plan, it would reduce the risks. And yes, I'm coming with you whether you want it or not. I've been with you all the time, so you can't make me stay now. Moreover, Nathaniel's mine."

Their eyes met. There had been no explanation yet, but for some reason Connor felt that the last sentence was an unbeatable argument.

"He's my best friend," she said. "He trusted me. Now it looks like he's going to die because of me. I should look him in the eye when it happens. I should pay him respect."

"All of this - it is very personal for you," Connor noted, lowering his voice.

She nodded, again looking at the sky. "Aye, it is. Killing Jonathan was personal. Fighting Nathaniel is personal. Siding with you is personal. For me, the whole story has been personal from the very beginning."

"For me as well."

He met her surprised gaze.

"In the first place, all the Brotherhood members are my friends," he said, feeling his throat drying out. "All this bloodshed happens for the sake of six friends of mine. I am acting very selfish now. I _am _very selfish. I became an Assassin because I wanted to protect my people; the Assassin ideals I adopted later. Very much later, I think. Probably I was not even a real Assassin until I realized that my people cannot be saved anymore. I never went against the Creed, but it was only because my personal views and interests never collided with it. Maybe ... Maybe becoming a true Assassin means to question the Brotherhood's ways as well. According to his journal, my father was taught something like this by his own father: 'To see differently, we must first think differently.' Only when we are sure that we truly agree with certain ideas we can follow them blindly. We have to understand what we are really fighting for. Years ago, I thought I was fighting for freedom, but since I saw the understanding of freedom in the new nation I doubt that I ever knew the meaning of this word. You told me once I would be able to find a new path, a compromise between ideals and reality. Indeed, after I defeated the Templars I thought I had found it. My compromise was to accept the imperfection of reality, but to carry on seeking my ideals. But for that ... It is one thing to accept the imperfection of reality, but it is a completely different matter to accept the imperfection of oneself. How can I claim to seek ideals if I am not ideal myself?"

Meggie's expression looked surprised. She leaned away from him, staring at him with her eyes widely open. It took Connor a few moments to find his tongue after realizing how strange he probably sounded.

"As I said, I _am _selfish," he explained. "I used to be harsh towards Achilles. Towards other people who did not deserve it. I live among the people of my homestead, knowing that my presence is a constant threat to them. Diana's hostage-taking has proved that. I pushed you to tell me about your past, knowing how painful it is for you. I know that I ..." He swallowed. "That I should not have feelings for you. Yet I have. And at the same time I know that all of this has to be accepted. But can I do this? Knowing that I can and should do it better?"

Meggie stared at him without blinking. Was she frightened?

"How?" she asked. "Killing off your human side?"

Connor couldn't decide whether there was hardness or softness in her eyes. Both at the same time, it seemed. The needles continued stitching.

"My part in the war, the guards in New York, this battle ..." The words had to be pushed outside by force. "So many died because ... Because I ..."

"Because you don't want to be alone and fear to lose those you love?"

Everything inside him was screaming. He didn't even dare to imagine what was happening to his face.

"As much as I believe I am fighting for a higher goal - my motivation has been personal from the very beginning," he whispered.

* * *

To be continued ...

This is a premiere: I've written battle scenes before, but I never wrote a sea battle. Apart from normal research I watched "Master and Commander" for inspiration (great movie, btw.!) and destroyed all of my amateurish attempts to write a realistic battle by adding the typical superhuman Assassin badassery. ;) I hope you liked this strange mixture.

Thanks for all the follows, faves and reviews!


	12. Not Because of a Merry Life

**Chapter 12: Not Because of a Merry Life**

The sun hadn't risen yet as Connor and Meggie sneaked onto the shore of St. Robert Island. The boat, crewed by Mr. Faulkner and some sailors of the Aquila, left silently, hoping to reach the other side of the island where the rest of Connor's crew and the majority of mercenaries from Fort Rodrigo were waiting before daybreak. The two Assassins had a quite precise description of St. Robert and of where to find the back entrance to the hidden fortress. They had to head for the only mountain, find a little pond and look for a cave behind the waterfall. Whether they would first kill Nathaniel, free the prisoners or eliminate the guards at the main entrance to allow the forces waiting outside to attack the fortress would be decided once they were inside, depending on the circumstances.

Between the two of them hung silence. They hadn't spoken much since their conversation the evening before, and Connor felt that he was not the only one who felt strange. Something else than the imminent killing of Nathaniel bothered Meggie; something regarding Connor. Shouldn't she have known? Shouldn't she have been prepared? He had told her it was wrong. He had foreseen that their affair was going to tear each of them apart. Yet on the other hand, nobody knew whether it wouldn't have turned out the same way if he hadn't agreed on having that affair. After all, he couldn't deny that his affection had grown much earlier. He couldn't remember when exactly, and he doubted a date when his affection was born even existed. It had happened slowly, stealthily, unnoticed until it was too late. And now both of them had to deal with the consequences.

The jungle around them was alive. It rustled and whispered as they walked through it, bending away branches, crouching, climbing trees, leaping from branch to branch, then walking again, being watched by countless animal eyes. Smells Connor couldn't name surrounded them. A few years had passed since he had been in the Caribbean for the last time, and he never had come to know this area well. At any rate, not as well as his grandfather Edward Kenway. There were moments, actually, when Connor felt a little curious about what he had been like. Surely, being his grandson, Connor had inherited something from him. He was also an Assassin, a man who loved the sea, who had an appreciation for freedom ... Connor had had disagreements with his father, but what would his grandfather have thought of him? He would never know, for Edward Kenway had died early ... 'You survived many times, but one day fortune will abandon you. Men like you don't live long. You are doomed.' This was what Meggie had said when they first met. What if he, Connor, would indeed share the fate of his grandfather? His widow embittered, his daughter kidnapped, his son turned a Templar ... No. Connor didn't have another option. There was no way for him to have a family.

A slight touch at his hand saved him from sinking even deeper into his gloomy thoughts.

"We're there, I think," Meggie said, pointing at a rushing glitter of starlight.

He suddenly turned to her, looking into the black shadow beneath her hood. Was it just his imagination or was his left hand sliding down her arm?

"Margaret, I ..."

Her hood moved a little as the shadow grew towards him.

"Before we go inside I would like to thank you for everything," he whispered. "We could get separated during the infiltration, or one of us might get killed. So I want to thank you now for the time we spent together. It was not always easy, but you are a remarkable person. And an extraordinary woman."

"Then I thank you for exactly the same, Ratonhnhaké:ton." Judging by the sound of her voice and her speech melody she was smiling, even though there probably was some bitterness in it. "Gliding with an eagle was a gain for the Parrot. I will never forget our time. But as for now, if I may, I would like to ask you two favours."

"What are they?"

"Fight Nathaniel, but please leave the finishing stroke to me."

Connor nodded. He had expected as much.

"And the other favour?"

"Please always stay this sweet bastard I fell in love with. No matter what happens. This world needs men like you."

She laid her hand onto his chest, stretching out her face to him, and he kissed her. For the last time, perhaps ... Was this her answer to his realization the evening before? She hadn't said anything after he had confessed what a personal matter this mission was for him. Was this it? What she asked him for? To stay who he was? No matter how many died? He had told her what a selfish person he was only a few hours ago and now she said that the world needed him being the man he was.

He locked her in his arms, squeezing her against his chest. Kissing her forehead. And breathing in the familiar scent of sheep and gunpowder.

Yet ...

"We should go," she whispered suddenly, freeing herself from his hug. Then, with a pride that could even be seen through the darkness: "In case we get separated: Safety and peace, Connor."

"Upon you as well," Connor replied, remembering her lectures on ancient Assassin customs during the past three weeks. And, having said this, he leapt, sliding down into the basin of stone. She was right, after all. There was no time to waste.

Cool water embraced him as he tried to walk as quietly as possible through it. Fortunately, the waterfall made enough noise to cover the movements of the two Assassins, so Connor felt quite assertive as he broke through the veil of water and risked a first glance into the cave behind.

A back entrance, indeed. Only two guards. Connor dived under the surface to cross the inner side of the pond. He knew Meggie was close behind him. As well as that after entering the cave by water he could forget about pistols and smoke-bombs. But they wouldn't be necessary anyway ...

As soon as he reached the edge of the basin he surfaced, grabbed the guard sitting near the water and pulled him into the pond. Hearing the splash, the other guard started up, looking around in bewilderment, then staring at the place where his comrade had been and where now Connor's head had appeared as the Assassin pushed his struggling victim under the water.

"You!" the man cried as he finally found his tongue, rushing towards him.

Connor didn't care much about the guard, being busy with drowning the other one. He knew he didn't need to, for the next moment Meggie appeared behind the attacker. The familiar metallic sound, blood, and the man fell down on the cold stone, dead.

The movements of the other man grew weaker until, with a last desperate attempt to free himself, his soul left his body and Connor climbed onto the shore. Meggie was searching the other guard's pockets by now, grumbling with disappointment as she found nothing useful.

They allowed themselves a short break to squeeze the water out of their clothes as well as they could without taking them off. Then they left the small cave to enter a narrow, black tunnel. Using a torch wouldn't have been very wise. Even the two guards hadn't used fire to light the cave during their watch, being aware that it could be seen through the waterfall, revealing the location of the secret entrance which Connor and Meggie knew about only thanks to the captain of the Lucrezia. The cave was lit by starlight prancing through the water veil. And as for the tunnel, it was lit by nothing.

The two Assassins groped their way through complete darkness contorting itself like a snake until they finally saw a tiny red spot in front of them. Reaching the end of the tunnel and getting their eyes used to light again they found themselves on a little ledge at the upper part of a hall, being half natural and half man-made. A construction of thick beams supported the ceiling - a perfect way for Assassins. They didn't need the ladder standing by their ledge.

There were countless stacks of crates and sacks and six persons in this hall: four guards, a boy, at the age of ten perhaps, and an important-looking man with long black hair and a scar across his face.

"Master Cross is worried about how long we can withstand a siege," he said. "He sent me to assess the supplies. So please let me work in peace, gentlemen."

"If it's the will of Master Cross, sir ..." one of the guards nodded. "Don't hesitate to ask us for whatever you need."

"I already have everything I need," the important man smiled and looked around the cave, apparently wondering where to start.

The four guards were still standing around him, so it was a perfect opportunity. Connor met Meggie's eyes, and she responded with a nod. They rushed forward, crossing the hall over the beams, and then jumped down, stabbing two guards each with their hidden blades. The man and the boy were encircled by the Assassins now.

However, they didn't decide to surrender. Connor had barely had the opportunity to stand up as the man drew his sword, forcing him to parry the blow. At the same time the boy shouted, and there was the noise of breaking glass.

"Easy!" Meggie exclaimed, letting her hidden blades shift back and slowly walking towards the child.

"Run, Ariel! Warn the others!" the man shouted and was distracted for a second. Connor lunged, dashing his tomahawk between the man's shoulder and neck. A short red fountain, and he sank to the ground.

"Uncle!" the boy cried as he watched the corpse falling.

"I warn you, boy," Meggie grunted. "One more sound - and you're dead. For it happens you have the chance to survive if you lead us to the prisoners."

"You killed my uncle, filthy Assassins!" the boy hissed, holding a broken glass bottle by its neck and pointing the sharp ends alternately at Meggie and Connor.

"We killed many uncles, I suppose," Meggie said coolly. "Just as the Templars killed both of my parents. Where are you from - Ariel, right? Where's your mother? Dead, I guess. I doubt any mother would like to see her child being raised as a killer. You're not with you father either. Is he dead too? Was he a Templar? And the man my friend just killed was his brother, was he?"

The child panted with rage. But he listened. Connor stayed in the background to prevent the situation from escalating. He knew he should leave the talking to Meggie.

"I'm just guessing, you see, but judging by your expression I can't be far from the truth," Meggie said with her hands raised. "The thing is, this story happens over and over again. No matter whether Templar or Assassin. Connor here," she pointed at him, "became an Assassin mainly because he watched his mother burn alive when he was four years old. I watched my own mother die at the gallows for a crime she didn't commit. The legendary Assassin Ezio Auditore da Firenze watched his father and his two brothers being hanged. Connor's father, a Templar, by the way, watched his father being murdered and his sister abducted. One doesn't join this eternal war because of a merry life, for ours is the path of pain and loss, no matter which side we choose. So, in a way, we're brothers and sisters in fate. And if we want to prevent unnecessary bloodshed we should work together."

Connor sighed. If other Assassins and Templars could see it this way too ... He already had had his lecture on the impossibility of such an alliance. Yet Ariel was still a child ...

"You just killed my uncle and the guards," the boy snarled.

"I'm afraid their deaths were necessary. If you tell me what else we should've done - I'd admit our bottomless stupidity."

"You shouldn't have come at all!"

Meggie rolled her eyes with her arms akimbo.

"That would've been treason to our brothers," she said. "Weren't you taught that one does not abandon his friends? We _have _to infiltrate this fort, you see. We have to kill Nathaniel Cross, because being a determined Templar he's a threat to our own order and wouldn't free the hostages if asked nicely. In fact, he has already tried to extort us. So you have the choice, boy: Do you want us to kill only those we have to, free the prisoners and then let our own forces take this fort easily and, hopefully, without serious fighting; or do you want a battle between the garrison here and Connor's crew plus all the angry mercenaries from Fort Rodrigo and the Templar fleet?"

Ariel's lower lip trembled as he pointed at Connor and opened his mouth for a last protest: "He's a savage."

"Don't worry about that," Meggie snorted. "He doesn't eat naughty little boys. Prefers naughty grown women instead."

In spite of the several ways to interpret her statement she only raised her left hand, presenting the missing fingers as proof, and the boy's eyes bulged from their sockets in fear. Connor just remained where he stood, speechless yet again. He had thought these times were over, but no, Meggie still wasn't able to hold back her bad jokes.

"You have scared Ariel enough, I think," he said, rushing forward and putting his hand firmly onto the boy's shoulder as he addressed him: "You have a strong heart, and I am impressed how you can make a weapon out of nothing. You will be a capable fighter once, whoever you side with. But for now you did enough. Meggie and I really want to avoid needless killing, and we need your help for that. Can you provide it?"

Feeling the 'savage' touching him, Ariel startled at first, but then seemed deeply surprised by the fact that Connor could talk - let alone speaking English! -, and he even forgot to look scared for a moment. Apparently, he hadn't spent much time in this part of the world yet ... During the passage Meggie had told Connor about how she used to be scared of 'niggers' and 'injuns' as a child. To the little girl who had spent the first years of her life exclusively among white people humans with dark skin had appeared as demons, and the American natives with all their animal skins and feathers had looked like strange crossbreeds between beasts and humans in her eyes. Meggie said that despite her mother's lectures it took her a long time to accept other races as proper humans. So Connor did his best to forgive Ariel his ignorance. After all, as soon as he was finished staring at Connor he gave a shaky nod.

Forcing Ariel to help had turned out to be the best thing they could do: The boy had talent. He walked ahead, leading the Assassins deeper into the caves through tunnels and corridors lit by torches, and whenever someone arrived on their way he would ask the person something and, doing so, provide a distraction so that the Assassins could sneak past in the shadows without being noticed. Sometimes he would spontaneously make up a lie and send the guards away, and if nothing helped he would say that he saw something suspicious in the tunnel and ask them to follow, leading them into an Assassin ambush. This child was really good. So good that Meggie whispered something about 'keeping him', making him her apprentice and taking him with her to Europe after everything was over, since he probably had no place to go to anyway.

The warnings that St. Robert was a labyrinth proved right. There were countless tunnels branching in the most random directions and at even more random angles to each other. Some were leading to the right, others to the left, others straight with a slight tendency to the right or left, some of them leading up and others down. Most walls seemed to be natural, but there were also many supporting constructions made by men. The floor had been flattened by human hand, and if a tunnel led up or down there were steps carved into the stone. For how long have these caves been used as a stronghold already? Connor couldn't spot any indications for Mayan or another culture's presence, and the supporting constructions didn't look too prehistoric. Probably some pirates staying on this island sometime during this century had discovered this cave system, being the first men to decide that it would make a nice underground fortress. Who else could have been so interested in a strong and yet secret hideout?

Just as Connor came to this conclusion Ariel stopped and with him the Assassins.

"There are two of your friends," he said, pointing at the red glow at the end of the tunnel. "The guards won't leave. You'll have to fight them."

Meggie pierced him with her stare. "You're not luring us into something, aren't you?"

"We made a deal," the boy replied stoically.

Connor nodded at him.

"Stay behind," he only said, heading towards the glow and peeking around the corner. Ariel's words weren't a lie: Indeed, there was a small chamber with two cells on the other end. Five guards were busy with playing cards, sitting on small barrels and arguing with each other.

"I still demand the extra portion of meat I won last time!" yelled a female voice from one of the cells, trying to drown the noise of the argument.

Connor almost made a leap of joy. Dobby! Yet he didn't know she played cards ... Probably there was just nothing better to do in that cell. After all, it wasn't like Connor didn't know what it was like to be imprisoned.

"They're not listening, Dobby," he recognized the voice of Clipper Wilkinson in the overall noise. "You should throw something at them."

"Good idea," Dobby said, and the next moment the head of one of the guards was hit by a metallic bowl. The group fell silent at once.

"Wot d'ya want, Assassin?" the guard grumbled, turning around and stepping to her cell.

"Only what's mine anyway."

"Oh really? And I thought ya wanna trouble!"

Before the situation could escalate Connor stepped out from behind the corner, and the next moment an arrow pierced the guard's throat. Maybe he didn't even feel pain, surprised as he looked when he turned around, searching for the shooter as he sank to his knees and then to the ground.

The noise of shifting metal went about the room as the other four guards drew their swords. Meggie darted past Connor, her left hidden blade engaged and her dagger in the right hand. She parried a sword by crossing her blades and kicked the wielder in his testicles. As for Connor, he managed to shoot one more guard with an arrow before they reached him, lunging at the next one with his tomahawk.

"I told you he'd come, I told you!" Clipper yelled in his cell, reaching out his arm between the bars and getting hold of a pistol which had fallen off the hand of the second man Connor had killed. At the same time Dobby searched the corpse in front of her cell and moments later ringed with the keys as she opened the door.

The man Connor was fighting swayed and fell, shot by Clipper. Dobby threw the keys to her still locked comrade, picked up a sword and rushed towards the last guard who was about to attack Meggie from behind just as she pierced her opponent with her dagger. All the five guards had died within moments.

"And the moral of this story," Meggie proclaimed, giving Dobby a thankful nod, "Don't underestimate an Assassin, even if he is jailed!"

No one answered, for everyone was busy looking around and realizing what just had happened. Dobby and Clipper were free after about two months of captivity, and Connor ... just stared at them, almost unable to believe that he was about to reach the goal of his quest. Saving the Brotherhood now became reality: The first two Assassins were free and in good health, it seemed.

"How are you?" he addressed his friends as he pointed at the bowl Dobby had thrown earlier. "You were not starved I hope?"

"No, and the food was surprisingly good actually," said Clipper, leaving his cell. "We just used to have some fun with the guards from time to time."

Dobby stepped to him, offering a sword.

"They said we had to thank someone called Nathaniel Cross," she added. "Whoever that is. But apparently it was his idea to treat us well. You look like you know this man, Connor."

Connor just dropped his gaze instead of an answer. Of course Nathaniel had insisted on good treatment. He couldn't risk anything to happen to the precious hostages if he was about to extort Connor. And still, if not for him, Greencog would have ordered the killing of the Assassins or they would have been starved, tortured and who knows what! In a sense, Nathaniel had been right when he said that he saved the lives of Connor's friends.

"And who are you, by the way?" he heard Dobby addressing Meggie, obviously having given up hope to get an answer from Connor.

Meggie gave her a wary smile. "Another woman in arms, huh? I was just about to ask you the same question."

Was it just Connor's imagination or did the atmosphere drop immediately? Even Clipper was scowling all of a sudden as the two women simultaneously looked at Connor, then again at each other and their eyes locked.

And then, without any warning ...

"Deborah Carter. Pleased to meet you!" said Dobby, beaming at Meggie.

Meggie's expression eased as well. "The pleasure is all mine. Margaret ... Margaret Henderson. Let's say I'm Margaret Henderson. I'm sick of my husbands' surnames."

"And this is Clipper Wilkinson, the only pleasant company I had during the past few weeks." Dobby made a gesture at Clipper who nodded with a relieved smile. Connor couldn't help but feel that there was something he should know but that was withheld from him for now.

"How did you find us?" asked Clipper, overseeing Connor's bewildered gaze.

Somehow this question reminded Connor of where they were and what they had to do. So he forced on a serious expression. They had to free four more prisoners after all. And kill Nathaniel ...

"All explanations come later," he said, turning to go.

"You're right," said Dobby. "Yet anyway, Clipper and I are glad to see you."

"I am glad too," Connor replied. "But we must hurry. Our infiltration will not stay secret forever."

So they were four now. Five if one counted Ariel who took on his job to distract guards once again, leading the silent procession through more corridors, up and down, some being wide and others narrow, through shadows and wide areas lit by torches. However, it was more difficult to remain stealthy now. Everyone did his best to produce as little noise as possible, but they were just too many. Connor knew it would be best to split up and ...

They were crossing a bigger hall as there was noise of several voices and all four Assassins froze on the planks under the ceiling. The room seemed to be something like a tavern with many tables and men sitting around them, drinking rum and playing dice in spite of the early time of the day. They started up to their feet as a squad marched in, surrounding a man with shiny golden hair.

"Ariel!" he exclaimed, seeing the boy. "Weren't you supposed to be with Bernard?"

"My uncle needs a new quill, Master Cross," Ariel said so calmly that one could have thought he had forgotten that his uncle was dead.

"Oh, is that so?" Nathaniel raised one brow. "We've heard something that sounded like a shot earlier. Do you happen to know what it was?"

All Assassin eyes turned to Clipper who had used a pistol to shoot a guard. His face went pale, then red and then pale again. Were they going to be discovered?

"Aye, sir," Ariel said without moving a muscle. "As I heard it I went to check on that, and it was just a drunken guard who made a shot at the ceiling."

"Interesting ..." Nathaniel stepped closer to him, maintaining eye contact. "It appears, my dear Ariel, that we heard a sea battle yesterday, but we still didn't get a report of victory. Instead, a guard at the main entrance claims that he has seen human figures moving outside on this island. What are they waiting for? What do you think? Maybe for someone to kill the guards at the main entrance by stealth ... someone who has already infiltrated this fortress through a secret passage. I don't blame you, though. Probably you were forced to help."

Both sides, the Assassins and the men below, forgot to breathe for a moment. Then, at a single blow, life returned into everyone. A murmur went through the rows of the Templars and their mercenaries, and they laid their hands on their weapons, looking to all sides as if expecting to see an Assassin jumping from behind the next corner. As for the intruders, Dobby and Clipper who didn't know the plan looked at Connor quizzically whereas Meggie was gesticulating like mad, pointing first at Connor, then at Nathaniel. 'Your chance,' formed her lips. He made a gesture at her and the others. 'Continue, gate, freeing,' Connor believed to read. So she was proposing that Connor hunted down Nathaniel while the others gave the signal to the forces outside to attack and freed the other prisoners with all the guards of the fortress looking for them once the alarm was raised.

Meggie was making new gestures. At Ariel this time. Although Nathaniel had said he didn't blame him, he barely would let him continue. So if the mission wasn't to fail Connor had to intervene now. So he nodded and ...

Nathaniel opened his mouth to say something, yet instead he instinctively jumped aside, so that Connor landed on the ground without hitting him.

"I was just about to ask you to come down, Connor," the Templar said, smiling.

Swords were drawn, pistols raised - some of them at the ceiling. But the three other Assassins were gone, hiding somewhere in the room - or maybe somewhere outside by now.

"Ariel, continue," Connor commanded, producing his tomahawk. "And run!"

He didn't really see the boy's reaction, but from the corner of his eye he watched him dart towards the doorway he had been heading to earlier with men running after him, shooting even, but suddenly being stopped by the big wooden door which closed just as the boy passed as if by magic. The Assassins and Ariel had made their escape.

Connor, however, was surrounded by Templars and countless mercenaries. Alone. With Nathaniel in front of him.

"Get the Assassin!" Nathaniel shouted, and it was the only thing the guards had been waiting for. Connor bent forward and ran, leapt towards Nathaniel with bullets darting past him, and he thanked Captain Kidd once again for having left behind the Shard of Eden.

Nathaniel, of course, didn't wait for him. He turned around and raced through the doorway in front of him. Connor followed, blowing aside two swords and diving into the dark tunnel, full of red, fiery shadows dancing on the walls. Shouts and shots behind him, his target ahead.

"Stop shooting! You could hit Master Cross!" one of his pursuers yelled, and another voice added in bad Spanish: "_Deje de disparar! No hagas daño_ Master Cross!"

Connor couldn't hold back a short smile. The Shard of Eden was a good protection, but it didn't save him from everything, especially when the attack came from behind. So his chances to survive this increased thanks to Nathaniel.

They chased through tunnels, shouting, puffing and cursing, and Connor wondered for how long Nathaniel planned to run around like this. They passed through tunnels and halls, but, as Connor noticed, Nathaniel's way led mainly upwards. He wasn't running in random directions but had a clear goal ...

They entered a large cave, split apart by an abyss on the deep ground of which Connor could see tiny figures moving - a lower floor of the fortress. The two sides of the upper floor were connected by a pendant bridge which Nathaniel had almost crossed as Connor reached it. And the next moment he realized what would happen next ...

He cut the rope to his right just as Nathaniel cut the ropes holding the bridge which immediately disappeared under Connor's feet and swung down, clashing against the side of the abyss. Holding the rope, Connor flew to the other side, and he barely reached it as he hurried to climb the wall before Nathaniel could cut this rope as well. Behind him, his pursuers were shouting angrily, producing their pistols again.

Connor let go of the rope and dug his fingers into the rock just as Nathaniel made another blow with his sword, so the rope plunged to the lower floor. Then Nathaniel seemed to turn to his escape again, and Connor continued to climb, praying to everything that was holy in this world that his pursuers wouldn't hit him with their bullets.

And they didn't. They remained helplessly on their side, unable to follow as he reached the edge and leapt up to his feet, almost unable to breath by now, but alive and still chasing Nathaniel.

He didn't have to run much anymore, though, for it happened that the tunnel he followed ended in a well-lit cave with a large hole in the wall opposite to the entrance. The sky in that window had a slightly grey touch. Soon would be dawn, and normally this was a time when most people in a fortress were asleep which was what Connor and Meggie had hoped for. But as they had learned, in this cave-system where no sun could shine into the men seemed to decide whether it was day or night by themselves, so that at least one half of the garrison was awake all the time.

The room Connor entered appeared to be something like a bureau with many wooden shelves around the walls, a desk near the window and an overall chaos of scrolls, books, paper and quills. Nathaniel stood in the middle and slightly turned to Connor as he entered.

"I'm glad you've come," he said. "I cut the bridge and ... Well, there's another way up here, but since your Assassins are going to let in the mercenaries who apparently have changed their loyalty my men will be too busy with the fight to come help me. So we can talk in peace then."

* * *

To be continued ...

I thank you all very much for reading! *hug* See you next week when Connor finally confronts Nathaniel ...


	13. The Good Man and the Bad One

**Chapter 13: The Good Man and the Bad One**

"I'm glad you've come," Nathaniel said. "I cut the bridge and ... Well, there's another way up here, but since your Assassins are going to let in the mercenaries who apparently changed their loyalty my men will be too busy with the fight to come help me. So we can talk in peace then."

"We have talked enough the last time we met," Connor snorted, having far too clear memories of the extortion.

"But you're eager to know why my men saved you and Meggie instead of killing you and why I left you the map, aren't you?"

Connor didn't answer, staring angrily at the Templar. Was he about to tell him how thankful he had to be over again?

"You see, you were only half-conscious as my men pulled you out of the water after the explosion," Nathaniel began his tale without an invitation. "It would've been dishonourable to kill you in a state like that. Capture you and bring you to our secret place, to your Brothers, knowing that you're a man who manages to survive his own execution? You would've found a way to break out and free the others. Capture you and challenge you as soon as you wake up? It wouldn't have been fair as well, because you still would've been surrounded by my men, and they wouldn't have let you go if you killed me. So my men made sure that you and Meggie would be unconscious for quite a while, so the Cesare would gain a lead over you. Why I wanted you to follow? Well, I couldn't let you stay alive just like that, free and uncontrolled, could I? I gave you the information you needed to follow, so I would know your exact location and prepare a trap by means of which I hoped to ensure your defeat. And if you were not to be defeated by the armada, then ... I knew you would infiltrate this stronghold. So there would still be a chance to kill you honourably. And this chance is now. It's only us in this room."

Connor lost his voice for quite a while, wondering whether Nathaniel was really serious.

"You are a madman," he finally said. "Nothing you say makes sense. 'Kill honourably!' 'Fairness!' 'Preparing a trap!' Your explanations are contradicting. What is it you really seek?"

Nathaniel only shrugged. "Peace," he answered.

"By what means?"

"I told you that I admire you, didn't I? Maybe you're right, and my actions and explanations _are _contradicting. I used to follow my instincts very much lately. More than usually. So what do I really seek? The same as last time, I guess."

Connor straightened his back, giving Nathaniel a contemptuous look. "You cannot extort me this time."

"You're right, I can't," Nathaniel nodded with a sad smile. "But don't you remember what I asked for back then?"

"You wanted me to join the Templars."

"In the first place, I wanted us both to work together. If all honest men in this world would unite, we could ban evil and injustice forever. But, apparently, this is not what is going to happen." Was his voice ... Was his voice quavering? Getting high? His hands, at least, were shaking ... His face was pale as death.

"Maybe ... maybe one last chance," he suddenly whispered. "For me. For everyone. It - it has to work. I am not a bad man, am I? I will succeed ... God - or whatever is up there - will help me ... If there's any hope for this world, then the good has to win ..."

Listening to this mutter, Connor couldn't decide whether he should feel angry, sorry for this poor lunatic or just confused by all this absurdity. Absurdity which had cost many lives ... This maniac was not only a danger for the Assassin Brotherhood but for everyone else as well. That Nathaniel was mad had proved earlier, but why did Connor realize the true extent of this madness just now? Nathaniel indeed was one of those especially dangerous madmen who didn't appear mad at all at first glance. Could it be that even Meggie, being his best friend for years, hadn't realized the true nature of Nathaniel's idealism?

"Win or die," proclaimed Nathaniel, and his voice was firm all of a sudden. "The same for you. Don't worry about your homestead - I'll see that the Templar Order will let it be after your death. In return, I'd ask of you to see that my family doesn't end up living on the street if I die."

He looked expectantly at Connor who nodded, knowing that he hadn't another choice anyway. He was going to fight and kill Nathaniel, leaving the innocent Elizabeth and seven children to their fate. Nathaniel was a madman, but it was a promise Connor could still make. After all, Nathaniel had made a promise himself ... An honourable promise ...

Nathaniel was the first to attack. He drew his sword, immediately making a lunge and taking out a dagger as Connor parried. It was also him who initiated the second and the third clash. As for Connor ... Too many thoughts were haunting his mind. 'But now their hold is weakened,' he recollected, 'which makes me believe there's a chance for peace. Imagine what might be accomplished if we were to unite.' This was what he had said once himself. 'But we have an opportunity here,' he had said to his father the day he killed him. 'Together we can break this cycle, and end this ancient war. I know it.' Yet ... 'Part of me once did as well. But it is an impossible dream.' His father's words. Was Connor in his role now?

'One doesn't join this eternal war because of a merry life,' Meggie had said earlier, 'for ours is the path of pain and loss, no matter which side we choose. So, in a way, we're brothers and sisters in fate. And if we want to prevent unnecessary bloodshed we should work together.'

He parried two more blows, lunged this time himself, his attack being blocked. He met Nathaniel's eyes. Those clear blue eyes which reminded him of a curious fact: Almost all white newborns had blue eyes; often their eye colour would change later, but in the beginning it was blue. And it seemed like Nathaniel's eyes had never changed. He was still a victim to his naivety which made him believe there was a clear line between good and evil, and he would use his talent to make what he believed to be the good win; he would seek control over everything, he would force the people to adopt his understanding of right and wrong and extinct those who believed something else, just as he had done with his own order. He had good intentions, yet ... There was something Father Timothy had cited on one occasion: 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.' - 'In your haste to save the world, boy - take care you don't destroy it!' was Achilles' version of it.

He parried once again ... So they weren't different at all, huh? Nathaniel was just like ... Had he, Connor, been so blind and naive as well? 'If I sought to dissuade you, it was because you knew nothing! If I was reluctant to contribute, it was because you were naive. A thousand times you would have died and take God knows how many with you. Let me tell you something, Connor: Life is not a fairy tale and there are no happy endings.' Many had died before Connor realized the truth behind Achilles' words. 'I thought if I could stop the Templars, if I could keep the Revolution free from their influence, then those I supported would do what was right. They did, I suppose, do what was right - what was right for _them_. ... So many voices - each demanding something else.'

'Different from whom? From Templars? Common criminals? Face the truth, Connor: The Assassin's Creed is a lie. You kill people. Who gives you the right to decide whose death is necessary and inevitable und whose not? To decide who is innocent and who is guilty? Who are you to decide such things? A god? No. You're a common mortal, and this means: nothing.' ... 'The only thing that is really there is the desire to live and survive. Everyone is just living and surviving as well as he can. And he's right to do so. He has his own way of life. It doesn't make him guilty.'

Nathaniel was good. He knew how to wield a sword. But Connor was going to kill him, ruining the happiness of his innocent family, maybe that of some people Nathaniel possibly used to help, and having killed countless men to get to him. 'They had a life. They had families. They were sons, brothers and fathers. Other people probably depended on them. They had their dreams and plans for future. They weren't your enemies. They only fulfilled their duty.' Was he just like Nathaniel in the end, forcing on his ideals on other people by means of violence? Was he just as mad and dangerous as his opponent with whom he probably would have made an alliance if their views hadn't been so contradicting?

'Connor, are you always ... certain in the means and ways of the Brotherhood?' sounded the voice of Aveline de Grandpré in his head. 'I ... trust my own hands,' he had replied. Did he still?

As a matter of fact, what Nathaniel asked for was impossible. If Connor had learned anything during the Revolutionary War - then, most of all, it was this. 'Were we not meant to live in peace, then? Is that it? Are we born to argue? To fight? I believe things can still change. ... Compromise. That's what everyone has insisted on. And so I have learnt it. But differently than most, I think. I realize now that it will take time, that the road ahead is long and shrouded in darkness. It is a road that will not always take me where I wish to go - and I doubt I will live to see it end. But I will travel down it nonetheless.'

His grasp around his tomahawk became firmer.

'So maybe the Brotherhood is indeed not about feelings or about morality or guilt or innocence. It is about following the Creed. Nothing more.'

'To see differently, we must first think differently.'

Was that it? The true Creed? To question everything and to trust one's own hands, no matter what?

"I am sorry, Nathaniel," he said, parrying another blow. For the last time hopefully. "In another time, in another world we could have ended up as friends. But not in this one. Your talent and your ideals are a dangerous combination. I cannot let you live."

And with this, he engaged this hidden blade, aiming for Nathaniel's upper arm. The Templar who froze for a second as he listened awoke just in the last moment, ducked and turned, escaping the attack.

"I cannot let you live either," he smiled sadly at Connor. "For exactly the same reasons, brother. This world is indeed a pathetic place if everything has to end like this. But you wouldn't understand. You'd be in my way all the time. When did you become like this? When did you betray your original ideals?" he asked as he leapt forward, preparing his sword for a new strike.

"I never betrayed them," Connor snapped, feeling the full might of Nathaniel pressing against his tomahawk. "I just see the world as it is. Imperfect, perverted, yet still beautiful. As long as there is at least one man believing in freedom it is worth fighting for."

Nathaniel shot his sword down and then past Connor's tomahawk, yet it was blocked by the hidden blade.

"You're mad," he said, his voice quavering again. "I believed in you, but you're just mad. You still believe in freedom blindly. You won't realize ... You still deny how cruel this world is! Wake up! See! See all this injustice! See what they turned me into!"

What was that? There was a noise of metal hitting stone, and Connor felt Nathaniel's left hand catching and clasping his fist holding the tomahawk. Then, as Connor lunged out with his hidden blade, holding it like a dagger in order to free his right hand from Nathaniel's grip, he realized that the Templar had thrown away his sword and that his hidden blade met flesh. When he looked up he saw blood. Much blood pouring out of Nathaniel's right hand, pierced by the blade, but holding fast Connor's left hand.

A gambit. Once again, a gambit.

"No face, no name, no origin!" Nathaniel shouted, and his bright blue eyes mirrored the sunrise behind Connor's back. "A nobody! A bastard that should not exist! They killed me before I was even born! And you - even you, someone such as myself, turn your back on me!"

Connor ossified as a strange thought occurred to him. After all this talk of making the world a better place ... Was this the final truth about Nathaniel? Leaving Connor alive, giving him freedom, caring for his friends, giving him the location of St. Robert ... just to be ... acknowledged? Letting Connor be free when having him unconscious ... Was it just the desire for Connor to accept him - accept him as willingly as possible, being as free as possible, not influenced by hostages and chains around his wrists ... In exactly this situation - this moment?

Still being not sure whether he understood any of Nathaniel's logic, Connor shook his head. "No, you just refuse to -"

A sudden pain struck him between his legs, he skipped a breath and was like paralyzed. Then, strong and heavy, Nathaniel's foot hit his guts, and he toppled backwards, even unable to break his fall. At a single blow the whole world seemed so incredibly blurred and distant like a half-forgotten dream.

"I am a good man," he heard Nathaniel speak somewhere far away. "You're a good man too. But you're a traitor. You betrayed us bastards. You were my only hope, and you disappointed me. This is why you're sentenced to death."

Death ... The pain was still so hard that Connor could barely move. But for some reason his hand went instinctively to his chest, protecting the heart.

"In the end, the good has to win. No matter how filthy and cruel this world is, your death proves that I'm on the right path."

A short, deafening sound and a spear of fire piercing his shoulder. Connor desperately tried to catch some breath through his clenched teeth and to regain the mastery over his aching body. If not for the Shard of Eden he would be dead now.

Nathaniel's cursing reached his ears, but Connor didn't listen for the exact words anymore. He just grabbed and turned something with his hand, the ringing of a falling dagger, his left fist lunging out and hitting Nathaniel's face. Before he knew what he was doing he leapt up to his feet, throwing himself with full force at Nathaniel, hitting the floor and punching him in the face again. Then he bent over him, panting.

"It is not me to kill you," he said. "I made a promise."

"Meggie," Nathaniel gave him a bleeding smile. "Why is that so? I aimed at your heart, yet you're still alive. There's something protecting you - something I don't have. The bullet changed its trajectory, and I couldn't kill you. I couldn't even kill you when I tried to stab you. But you - you can just use your hidden blade and ... So that's how it is, huh? You won. You fucking won. You're the chosen one. Chosen by Meggie, by fate, by faithful friends, by everyone. So ..." His whole body was shaking. "In the end you're the good guy, and I'm the bad one. This is the proof. My entire life has been a failure. It makes no sense anymore."

There was a strange movement inside his mouth as if his tongue was searching the jaw. Then the biting on something.

"Poison," Nathaniel grinned at Connor's dazed expression. "You don't need to know which one."

* * *

To be continued ...

A very short chapter this time. Considering that some of the recent chapters were quite long I hope it isn't a problem. However, now there are only two more chapters to go. I hope you like this fanfic so far and thank you for reading, faving and reviewing. See you next week!


	14. The Sun Rises in the West

**Chapter 14: The Sun Rises in the West**

"Nathaniel always had this theatrical side about him," Meggie said, sitting next to Connor on a large stone and watching out to the sea, past the Assassins gathered around a fire. "We were very similar in this sense. However, I never bothered to be seen as a 'good guy' whereas for him being recognized as someone good and honourable was essential. Or what do you think made him ambitious enough to make such an exceptionally fast career? He really meant it well when he did good to someone, but he always had this urge to demonstrate his sense of honour and goodness to the whole world, so this is probably why he forced on you that strange explanation. Such a desperate demonstration of noble qualities is ... Well, when he was upset Nathaniel tended to drown in self-hatred."

Connor looked at her, marvelling about how resigned she was about her best friend's death and the failure to kill him herself. "So you think the only thing he wanted was to prove to himself and everyone that he was worth something? I cannot help but think that everything - saving us, giving me the map - was a test. He expected me to come and prepared the poison. He thought he would either succeed by making me his ally or killing me and thus proving that he was on the right path; or he would fail, seeing it as a proof of being on the wrong path and committing suicide. Yet why kill himself? He would have died anyway."

"He never liked other people to deal with his business for him," Meggie shrugged. "He was quite obsessed with you, and, I guess, you're the man he wanted to be. Someone fighting for the good, no matter what. Despite the fact that the world is too complicated to be divided in good and evil. But now that the evil, as he believed, had turned out to be himself the only way to be a hero and to defeat the 'bad guy' was to commit suicide."

"In the end, everything is a personal matter to someone, huh?" Connor smiled sadly. "Nathaniel was shaped by his past, thirsting for what he believed to be the good to win, to create a world where he would be accepted." He sighed. "This is not how one gets true respect. For ..." It did hurt, and Connor knew it would hurt for quite a while, for years and decades. "For doing good to someone often means doing evil to someone else. The Templars I killed accused me of a naive worldview, and I admit it _was _naive back then, but, looking at it carefully, the Templar worldview is made of the same naivety as mine: the division in what is good for humanity and what is bad. In fact, it is always only about personal interests. One does not desire peace if one did not experience war. One does not thirst for justice if one did not experience injustice. Everyone - the people, the government, the Templars - they are doing what is right for _them_. It seems it is up to us Assassins to find a path that is right for everyone - a compromise. Though we may never find it, we still should question everyone and everything, including ourselves."

Meggie leaned backwards, making a suspicious expression. "You have changed."

"Maybe I did; maybe I did not. I do not know yet."

Indeed, Connor couldn't decide whether he felt empty or filled with something he didn't understand yet. There was this truth that he was just as selfish as Nathaniel, the Colonists and everyone else. There was also this urge to pity Nathaniel and at the same time to forget everything that had happened on St. Robert. And there were still the needles piercing his chest. The fact that Meggie was so resigned was troubling. She didn't even make silly jokes like she used to when feeling nervous or uncomfortable. She wasn't in a good mood either, for in that case she would tease him. She had shown no reaction at the news about Nathaniel's suicide at all. Somehow it made Connor feel sure that she wouldn't wait for anything and depart the Americas as soon as possible to leave this whole story behind.

So it was the end now. The end of their little affair which actually had been planned to end like this - with nothing.

However, Meggie wasn't the only one not to show many emotions. He had the same problem himself. Too much was going on inside him for his expression to know what to look like. Almost two days had passed since he killed Nathaniel, and the most time Connor had spent staring into space, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. He had even barely noticed the pain as the Templar physician pulled out the bullet and the pieces of cloth out of his shoulder, carefully assisted and watched by the Assassins Jamie Colley and Stephane Chapeau, ready to stab the doctor if the medicine-experienced Jamie considered anything in the Templar's way of treating Connor and the other patients wrong. Now he was sitting on this stone on the shore next to Meggie, his left arm lying in a sling, and feeling his world slowly falling apart. He knew this feeling. He had experienced it for the first time when his dreams were destroyed by reality, when the people he loved died, when he found his village abandoned and when he saw everything he had been fighting for being perverted. Now the same was happening, yet on the inside. No village was abandoned this time, but something he had been carrying his whole life and that now was dying, slowly, deadly wounded, leaving nothing behind - no truth, no goal, no actual belief. For if everything was to question, if doing good and doing evil often turned out to be the same - what was he fighting for then? - 'I just see the world as it is. Imperfect, perverted, yet still beautiful. As long as there is at least one man believing in freedom it is worth fighting for.' - He had said this spontaneously, instinctively, but could it be his new path? Connor knew he would not give up whatever he was fighting for - yet what was freedom? What was beauty?

Maybe there was a reason why the task of an Assassin was only to fight symptoms. Why the Assassins - unlike the Templars - didn't have a concept of an ideal world themselves. It was to be found. - If a concept of an ideal world wasn't even against the Assassin principles. For freedom also meant that everyone should be allowed to have their own concept which was, as his father once put it, 'an invitation to chaos', because everyone would, of course, try to establish their own concept, believing it to be the only way to save the world. So the only way to solve this problem was compromise. Something everyone could agree on. Yet since the worldviews tended to be highly contradicting it wouldn't be easy, and this was actually why the road ahead was long and shrouded in darkness. Why it was a road that would not always take him where he wished to go - and why he probably wouldn't live to see it end.

Connor noticed that his mind was going in circles again, repeating the same thoughts and conclusions over and over, so he decided to stand up and take a walk around the beach. The soft sand gave in under his bare feet, his toes sinking into it as he enjoyed the warm breeze of the calm sea. On another occasion he would have enjoyed staying here with his Brotherhood and Meggie, resting under palm trees, eating the exotic fruits and secretly being amused about Meggie's fragile skin getting redder and redder under the Caribbean sun. Yet as things were now, the mercenaries and the Assassins seemed far away from the world Connor now was wandering through. They were on this island which had used to be the hideout of the pirate Benjamin Hornigold in the beginning of the century and then fell into the hands of the Templar Order. Now, it seemed, it belonged to nobody, for Connor didn't have the resources to keep it. He could, however, give it to the Assassins operating in this region. After all, it would be a waste for such a fortress to become ruinous. If not even dangerous if the Templars or someone else with bad intentions would use it.

Connor walked past the Assassins who sat joyfully around their fire, talking and, even if a little disappointedly, having accepted Connor's and, too, Meggie's unwillingness to join them. They had been surprised about her, but, after a short introduction, agreed to accept her as a 'brother'. She indented to implement her idea about making Ariel her apprentice, telling him that he could still choose his alliance freely once she made him a deadly killer. Of course she hoped that he would have adopted the Assassin ways by then, and Ariel surely knew that, but he agreed - or rather: didn't resist. Being an orphan and thus having nowhere to go anyway, he followed her orders mutely, and now was sitting with the Assassins by the fire, listening to their conversation.

There had been a soft moment between Connor and the Brotherhood. Back in the bureau Connor hadn't had another option but to just watch Nathaniel die, slowly, painfully as the poison killed his body little by little, shaking him and fighting what was left of his survival instinct. Connor would have killed him. Yet ... He had been watching him with his hidden blade engaged, but something held him back from slitting the Templar's throat. Somehow the suicide just paralyzed him - probably because it was so unexpected and brought his mind to its knees by loading gazillions of new thoughts on it. Connor had been in a strange, contradicting state full of every feeling he was capable of as he realized that Nathaniel was finally dead and that the Brotherhood had gathered at the entrance of the bureau, watching him kneel by Nathaniel's corpse. Then Connor lifted his gaze and saw the six faces so dear to him, everyone free, everyone alive, his family reunited. His task accomplished. And so another strange state followed, that of Connor rising and walking towards his family, grabbing the shoulders of Duncan Little and Jamie Colley who were standing nearest to him and pressing them against his chest. There followed a moment of joy mixed with amazement about the Master's sudden sentimentality, but then all the Assassins ended up in one big, warm and comradely hug.

After that Connor drifted away in his empty and overflowing parallel world, so everything seemed to happen quite fast: The Assassins telling him about Meggie killing the guards at the main entrance and giving the signal to the forces outside while Dobby and Clipper freed the remaining Assassins. There hadn't been much fighting, since everyone in the fortress had been too busy with looking for the Assassins and was surprised by the attack. Moreover, seeing their comrades from Fort Rodrigo they were quite willing to surrender. Later, as promised, the mercenaries were allowed to take whatever they wanted from the fortress - except for the papers in the bureau which Connor took into his possession, hoping to learn something important about the Templar Order through them as soon as his mind was more willing to work. With the mercenaries celebrating their payment - which was not only gold but also sugar and, most of all, endless amounts of rum - and the Assassins celebrating their freedom St. Robert Island had turned into an almost unbearably loud stronghold of drunkenness. The dead and the wounded, however, were not forgotten, and the Templar physician and his assistants had their hands full with all kinds of wounds down in the caves. Jamie made sure that the wounded of Connor's crew were treated well and had even instructed Duncan to watch over the captain himself all the time. Duncan did as he was told until today when he decided that, though the physician and Jamie said that Connor's shoulder needed rest, it was up to Connor to decide whether he wanted to risk his wound to open again or not. - And Connor actually wanted to go outside which was why Jamie was angry with Duncan this afternoon.

Was time running or did it stagnate? Connor couldn't tell as the sand under his feet became hard and wet and, moments later, a tide licked over his ankles. From the corner of his eye he watched Stephane explaining to the other Assassins what he was going to cook for dinner, then he locked his gaze on the turquoise, golden-sparkling horizon, suppressing what he identified as jealousy. He shuffled his feet, splashing the water against the tide, a vain resistance against a force he could not fight.

"May I ask you somezing?"

Connor almost made a jump of surprise. But it was only Jacob Zenger whose English, fortunately, was much better than that of his wife.

"Did you happen to meet Wihelmina when you looked for us?" Jacob asked.

Connor nodded.

"How is she? How is my son?"

He could do what he wanted - the tide wouldn't surrender to a foolish human like him.

"She was very worried, but except for that she seemed well," Connor said. "I did not see your son, though. He must be all right, for it was only you Wihelmina was worrying about. She attacked me when I told her about your disappearance."

Jacob burst out laughing. "She would do zat! So did you see what a strong woman she is? If one of _zem_," he made a gesture in the direction of the main entrance of the fortress, "would have been wizin her reach I wouldn't have envied him. And not only zat! No matter what happens - she always carries on. She's a warrioress - a valkyrie!"

Connor nodded again. "You have a good family, Jacob."

"One day you'll have one too," Jacob said grinning and patting his shoulder thankfully as he left.

Connor clenched his teeth and made one last, weak kick against the tide, almost losing his balance and falling into the water.

* * *

"You broke your promise."

Obviously Deborah Carter didn't consider it necessary to announce her presence before starting with her subject, joining him as he leaned at the stern's railing and watched the Aquila cutting a wound in the harmoniously rocking sea surface. About three weeks had passed since the Aquila set sail back to North America - first for New York, then Boston and finally the Davenport homestead to bring all the Assassins to their homes. Connor had promised everyone a furlough, so they could get a rest after months of captivity.

"Yet I see you never really decided to settle and have a family," Dobby grinned as he didn't answer. "So I don't blame you."

Connor knew she wouldn't have blamed him anyway. His promise to give her the 'first crack' had been but a joke to lighten up the gloomy atmosphere. If she would have been really interested in him she surely wouldn't have just asked him to give her the first chance but would have done something to actually get it. Otherwise it would have made a quite dreadful scenario: 'Hello Dobby. I just decided to settle and have a family, so let's try. And don't worry: If it does not work with us I am going to look for another woman to give her the "second crack".'

"What I'm trying to say is ..." Dobby sighed and suddenly slapped his shoulder. "Propose already."

Connor slowly turned his face in her direction.

"To Meggie I mean. You don't want her to leave, do you?"

"It is not ... It is complicated."

"It's always complicated, Connor," said Dobby, leaning next to him and lowering her voice. "I kept overlooking Clipper for years, seeing in him just a comrade until ... until the hostage-taking gave me the opportunity to get to know him better. He's an idiot sometimes, but ... a sweet idiot."

Connor had had suspicions about this, but it still shocked him enough for his mandible to drop.

"Don't worry, you'll get your invitation once we've agreed on time and place," Dobby cheered, and something very girlish was sparkling in her eyes which was quite ... bewildering to be seen in _her_ face. "And if you hurry, it can even become a double wedding!"

Even if Connor would have known what to answer - he was just unable to speak right now.

"So what are you waiting for?" Dobby continued. "You can't expect from her to make the first move, since ... Well, I don't know how much you know about her past, and I'm not sure whether it's right to tell you what she entrusted me in our woman to woman conversations, but ... She considers her first husband the greatest disappointment in her life. She met him during the Boston massacre when he was beaten up by redcoats but didn't resist because of ... his principles. He strictly refused to use any kind of violence, even if it meant to get killed. This made a strong impression on her when he explained it after she saved him. Yet later he abandoned his ideals to join the Continental Army. As for her second husband, she considered him a close friend, but he turned abusive towards her, so he was a disappointment too. And it's not long ago since she killed him with her own hands. After all this you can't expect her to run into the arms of the first man she met after making herself a widow and trust him after all those disappointments. She'd rather flee before risking you to become a disappointment too. She's afraid, Connor, and it's up to you to still her fears. - Only you."

'Please always stay this sweet bastard I fell in love with.' - Yes. She didn't want him to change. She didn't want him to give up his ideals, for this was what she liked most about him. And besides - 'This is exactly why I like you but never will seriously try to come closer to you. Even if there was a chance for me - I don't want to become a widow for the third time.'

"It is complicated," Connor repeated, staring motionlessly at the wound in the water. "Even if I was able to accept the risks - with everything that happened to her I would need a miracle for her to agree to stay."

"Well, the funny thing about miracles is that the greatest of them don't even require magic," Dobby shrugged. "She would stay, I tell you, she really would. Even if most of us would deny it, in her heart every woman believes in miracles and waits for one to happen. If a woman leaves - often she actually hopes to be held back. She _waits _for you to ask her to stay. Changes, disappointments, everyday arguments ... She'll forgive you many things. But what she'll never forgive for sure is if you just let her go now."

Connor raised his gaze at Dobby and wondered whether it was a blessing or a burden to have a female best friend. On the one hand she gave him hope, yet on the other ... what if this hope was to be disappointed?

"So are you willing to talk to her?"

... And now he had to choose. Too fast ... Too fast!

"Connor?"

"I ... I should not ..."

"You definitely should. I want a double wedding." And so she disappeared from his side, making him recoil as she called: "Meggie! Connor says he wants to tell to you something, but he doesn't know how!"

Connor could almost feel his men prick up their ears. Rumours and bets about a possible wedding were circulating ever since the captain had lost his virginity, and some especially cocky crew members even speculated about the sex of the first child he and Meggie would have. How could anyone be so bored for his boldness to grow to such dimensions?!

"If he doesn't know how you shouldn't force him to do it," Meggie said somewhere very close. She said this, but she had come as Dobby called for her.

"If you don't give him a chance today then I don't want to hear any complaints tomorrow!" Dobby grunted, and Connor could hear her steps leaving the quarterdeck. As he turned his head he could see Dan Morgan standing by the wheel and giving him a wink. Connor had no doubt about what he had laid bets on.

Following Dobby's instructions, Meggie took up position next to Connor, waiting. She had been feeling sick this morning, having even thrown up, but she looked much better by now. Still a little bit pale, yet her freckles were sassy as always as she looked expectantly at Connor.

"I - uhm ... I just wanted to - urgh ... How should I ..."

Just what had Dobby done to him! His ears felt so hot that they probably didn't need much to start giving off smoke just as the beard of the infamous Edward Thatch alias Blackbeard once did.

"Just say it as it is."

Maybe Dobby was right. And maybe Meggie would even go so far as to kill him if he didn't ask her.

"Would you stay?"

Meggie only raised her brows. "What do you mean?"

She perfectly knew what he meant! Sometimes women were just ...

"Would - would you stay here instead of leaving America?"

She turned her eyes away, looking down at the wound. "I told you already I don't intend to stay here. This continent can't offer me anything else than memories I'd prefer to forget."

Connor clenched his teeth, knowing that, in a way, she was manipulating him, forcing him to speak the words she wanted to hear. He was almost tempted to say 'It's nothing', but he knew that this sentence would only lead to losing her forever. Dobby had enforced this situation in which there was no turning back without fatal consequences. Even if Meggie decided to leave - Connor didn't want her to think ill of him, yet she would if he didn't cast aside all his doubts and fears and just did what Dobby and Meggie wanted him to.

It _was _painful. What if she agreed? He would live in constant fear to lose her, he would live knowing that, being an Assassin, he couldn't give her the attention she deserved, and what if he would disappoint her just as George and Jonathan once did?

"I think we're finished here," Meggie said, and her expression turned unbearably cold. "I have to get something done, so if you'd excuse me ..."

She turned to leave.

"No," Connor grabbed her arm. "I do not want you to go. What I am asking for is you to stay _with me_. I know the risks, I remember what we agreed on one and a half months ago, and I admit that I would not ask you if Dobby would not have forced me to, but ..." Had he ever spoken so fast in his entire life? "You know that, Meggie. You know that ... _konnorónhkwa_."

Meggie's face turned puzzled for a second, and her movements froze. "I know that _what_? Connor, the only thing I know in your language is: _Tiohrhén:sa satá:ti_. I didn't need more than that to talk to Mohawk captives during the war."

'_Tiohrhén:sa satá:ti._' - 'Speak in English.' Connor didn't have another choice, huh?

"You know how I feel about you - that I love you, though it sounds wrong if I say it in English."

Meggie dropped her eyes, blushing. "Your English is so good that I often forget you're not a native speaker." Her body eased, and she stepped back to the railing. "That's the reason why we agreed to part, wasn't it? Remember? No consequences ..."

"Yet there _are _consequences." Connor stepped next to her, wondering how to touch her. They were close, but right now ... He decided to touch only her arm. He should leave her the freedom to retire.

Before he knew what happened they were holding hands.

"There are, Ratonhnhaké:ton, there are," Meggie whispered with her rough voice, still not looking at him. But leaning against him. ... Was it a yes? And if - a yes for what?

"Dobby said I should propose to you, but I think it is too early," he mumbled. - Why? He couldn't say.

He felt Meggie nod against his shoulder, obviously forgetting about his injury, and she startled up as he gave a light wince of pain. It didn't hurt too much anymore, but it still _did _... Which was the reason why he couldn't steer the ship, actually.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"It is all right," he sighed, letting go of his shoulder and lowering his right hand back at the railing. The ship still produced the wound down at the surface, but when he looked up at the horizon it slowly and carefully closed as time passed.

"I lied to you, by the way," he suddenly heard Meggie speaking again. "I also know the words _khwe_, _ó:nen_, _niá:wen_, _anì:tas_, _okwaho_, _atená:ti _and _akoshá:tens_."

* * *

Apparently, 'it' had been a yes, for Meggie didn't come off the Aquila when they reached Boston. She said goodbye to the Assassins leaving the ship, then returned to the captain's cabin where the whole Brotherhood had stayed during the journey and where now lived only Connor, Meggie and Ariel who didn't have another choice but to go where his new mentor went. When, on a sunny afternoon in the early August of 1784, they landed at Davenport Bay, however, Meggie, too, didn't care to prepare her possessions for leaving the ship. Instead, she joined Connor as he oversaw the berthing.

"It's long ago since I've inspected your village - it was sometime during the war," she said. "But if I remember correctly, you have a physician there."

Connor nodded. "Yes, Dr. White. Why do you ask? Are you feeling sick again?"

"No, everything is fine, I guess."

Somehow Connor didn't like the slightly absent way she said that ... "Why do you ask then?"

"Because I need to talk to him."

"Then something _is _wrong?"

"No, I hope not."

Connor turned to her, furrowing his brow. "What is it? You have been acting ... strange lately. Are you ill?"

"It's not an illness, Connor!" she snapped, suddenly leaving his side and heading towards the boarding plank without any other word.

"Meggie?!" There was a strange idea wandering through his stomach ... "Meggie, what is happening?"

She wasn't listening and left the ship, almost running. The next moment he felt a heavy smack on his healthy shoulder.

"Congratulations, captain," said Robert Faulker, looking very pleased with something.

Connor clasped the railing as he felt his knees weaken. It was too much. Bunker Hill, chasing Charles Lee and everything else were nothing against _this_. Why hadn't anyone told him? Why did he discover it just now? Knowing that such things used to happen when ... spending too much time with a woman.

"Personally I hope it'll be a boy," Mr. Faulkner grinned. "It's about time for the next captain to start with his schooling."

* * *

To be continued ...

We've almost made it! One last shock/adventure for Connor in this fanfic (but not in his life, of course), one last chapter, and this story will be over. I'm glad and sad at the same time.

However, thanks for reading, faving and reviewing.


	15. A Proper Welcome

**Chapter 15: A Proper Welcome**

"Holy shit!" Connor said for the first and the last time in his entire life.

He had to follow Meggie, but his legs just refused to move. There _were _consequences, and Connor knew he would never be able to imagine what had been going on in Meggie's head during the past few weeks. Having the agreement for their ways to part, discovering her pregnancy, having been disappointed by love relationships and having lost three children, having killed her husband only little more than two months ago ... Everything was happening too fast - for her just as for him.

He was going to be father ... Father! Dooming his child to fight in this eternal war, knowing that a child would need even more attention than a wife, and, most of all ... He hadn't had a real father himself. He had met Achilles quite late and his natural father even later. Even if he could adjust to having a family - he had still no idea of how to be a parent.

It was like his entire existence was overrun by a gigantic wave, destroying everything he had built. It was not like he didn't want ... He just couldn't! It did look nice in his imagination, but it was definitely more than he could bare in reality ...

And why hadn't she told him? Why did he have to learn about it like this? He had noticed that Margaret had been acting strange during the journey back, not talking much, avoiding Connor's presence, not looking him in the eye ... Had she been trying to hide the truth? Had she been trying to leave him behind like this, keeping him unaware of his fatherhood when escaping to Europe? Yet she seemed to have agreed on staying. - Had she really? What was she up to? Was she still fleeing?

Concealing the pregnancy, fleeing ... It was treason!

Connor gritted his teeth, forcing his mind to return to the real world and take control over his weakened knees. Forgetting about everything else he jumped off the Aquila and ran for the homestead. He had been panicking for too long, and Meggie had a lead; yet fortunately, he knew where she was going ...

The word 'father' wouldn't stop circulating in his head as he ran up the hill, and he couldn't decide what was scariest about the news: that he didn't know what Meggie was up to, that he had been almost fooled, that he stood at the beginning of a family, that he could lose this beginning or that he would certainly fail at being a good husband and father?

And at the same time ... How could this be? Him having his own child? His. Own. Child?!

Connor didn't have the slightest idea of what he was going to say when he burst into Dr. White's house without knocking. Meggie was sitting on a chair with her head lowered and her hands folded. Dr. White leapt up to his feet. His expression looked quite perplexed.

"Connor?! So you're the ..."

"You didn't tell me!" Connor shouted, ignoring Dr. White and pointing at Meggie.

She raised her eyes at him, looking no less angry. "I didn't," she said with calm hostility in her voice.

Just what was going on? Yet before he could yell more accusations he felt a strong pressure against his chest: Dr. White was trying to push him out of the house.

"Your ... friend asked me for a talk in private," he said. "You can still talk to her later."

"But she -"

"Please wait outside, Connor. You frighten her."

"She didn't tell me!"

The door snapped shut right before his nose. He _frightened _her?! If she would have told him ... He felt his strength vanish and sank to the ground, leaning his back against the wall and clasping his head with his hands.

Father ... father ... He was going to be father! How was he going to handle this? A child ... his own child, his flesh and blood ... and Meggie hadn't told him! In any case he should have been the first to learn about this, and yet he was the last!

Memories danced around in his mind - memories of Diana with a knife at her throat, of his mother burning alive, of his father falling to his knees, pressing his hand against his bleeding neck, of Kanen'tó:kon dying, the dream of Meggie's corpse in his bed, of his first son threatening his younger brother ... He wasn't someone who should have a family. He couldn't do this to his beloved ones!

And anyway, who would look after the child? Being an Assassin, Connor would go on missions; Meggie probably too ... What if his child would become a Templar hostage? He would have to teach his child to kill, to take lives. He or she would have to become a murderer in order to survive. His child was doomed to live the same wrong, violent life as him. A life full of blood and tragedy, a life full of decisions with only wrong choices ...

What was it? It was wet and hot, running down his cheeks. Was he crying?

"Connor! Didn't know you're back!"

"Is something wrong?"

He didn't need to look up to know that some of his friends from the homestead gathered around him, watching him being in this state. Yet for some reason he didn't even care ... What did he live for again? What was allowed to be done and what not?

When the door opened he leapt up, just like a cat splattered with water.

"And again, there's no need to worry," Dr. White was saying. "But don't hesitate to call on me whenever you feel something is wrong."

"What is happening?" Connor asked, trying not to burst out shouting again.

"She's very worried and frightened, that's all," Dr. White said.

"Why frightened? Why didn't you tell me, Meggie?"

"Because it's pointless," she snapped and suddenly turned walking.

"Pointless? Where are you going?"

"To Boston."

"What?! By foot?!"

"Yes, if I have to."

He heard voices behind him, but he didn't listen as he followed.

"Meggie, stop! You are not in your right senses!"

The next moment he was looking into a gun barrel.

"Stop following me, Connor. Most miscarriages happen during the first months. And even if it's going to be born alive - the chances for it to survive the childhood are like this!" She held up her left hand, leaving only little space between her thumb and forefinger.

"Is that all you're afraid of?!"

"Connor, I killed my husband!"

"I know!"

The gun barrel before his eyes disappeared and a shot went into the air; then Meggie cast aside the pistol and leaned against a tree, sobbing.

"It's too early, Connor, I'm not made for this, it's not going to end well, it'll die just like Fletcher, I'm a bad mother, I'm going to ... I'm going to disappoint you ..."

Connor froze. Just ... just the same fears as his own! He felt the blood in his veins slow down.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, a little bit calmer.

"I was afraid," she blubbered out.

He reached out his arm, embracing her jerking shoulders, tenderly, as if she was made of glass. He had to be strong ... for her - and for the child.

"We will ... We should not give up before we even tried."

"That's right," another voice said, and suddenly Connor realized that Prudence stood right in front of them. "Maybe I shouldn't interrupt, but ... If I understand it correctly, you are pregnant with Connor's child. This is ... I always wondered whom he would choose, and if he chose you, you must be a good person. And I'm sure everyone in this homestead would like to help as well as he can."

Meggie looked up at her, blinking.

"I already told you there's no reason to apprehend a miscarriage," Dr. White added. "You seem quite healthy."

"But - but ..." Meggie stammered, sobbing helplessly in Connor's arms.

"Dr. White will make sure your child is going to be born alive and healthy," Prudence said, patting Meggie's shoulder and earning a short and sad, but thankful smile from Connor. "And once it's born I will be glad to help you to care for it. The others too. Connor did so much for us - everyone is just waiting for an opportunity to repay his kindness."

"Yes," Myriam joined in. "You're going to be father, Connor! Wait until I tell Norris! It seems our child is going to get someone about his age to play with!" And, with a broad smile: "That's right. I'm pregnant too."

The only thing Connor knew was that he was speechless. Everyone ... Everyone gathered, promising to help ... And Myriam being pregnant?!

"My name is Myriam," the huntress introduced herself to Meggie who even forgot to sob, facing all this helpfulness.

"And I'm Prudence. Nice to meet you."

Meggie blushed, staring at all the people around her and Connor with big eyes. 'The funny thing about miracles is that the greatest of them don't even require magic,' Dobby's words sounded in Connor's head. Indeed ... This was a true miracle. A gift. A challenge, but also a gift. The child, and all his friends offering their help ... This was beauty. This was what was worth fighting for in this world.

"Everything will be all right," he whispered, pressing Meggie against his chest with both arms and kissing her forehead. "Whatever happens ... Everything will be all right. I promise."

* * *

18 December 1795

Upon my return home I was attacked. A fast shadow jumped off a tree, and a moment later I held my ten-year-old son in my arms.

"Welcome back, _Raké:ni_," Tsitshorón:kwe cheered. "Did I scare you?"

"You scare me each time you do such things," I replied, desperately trying to make my heart calm down. No parent wants to see his child jump off trees.

My son only shrugged. "Mother told me to train air assassinations."

Of course she did. It's mainly Meggie who does the training of our children. Unlike me she rarely goes on missions and prefers to bury herself in books and papers down in our expanded basement which she turned into a library. "Future is secured not only by this," she would often say, pointing at my hidden blades, "but also by this," holding up her quill. She tries to record the whole history of the Colonial Brotherhood and even sent Ariel, a young man by now and her right hand, to the other side of the ocean to collect more knowledge. He stayed away for two years and returned with a seemingly endless amount of boxes filled with copies of historical documents, some of them even written by prominent Assassins, such as Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Ezio Auditore, Niccolò Machiavelli ... More than a few of the works he brought to America had been in Templar possession until he stole them which was the last proof of his loyalty. When asked why he stays with us and doesn't rejoin the Templars he would say that he sees no difference in whom to serve. He doesn't care much about the Creed, being an Assassin rather because of curiosity. He calls himself proudly a _rafiq_, a scholar, slightly despising everyone who is not as fascinated with hidden knowledge as himself. To obtain this knowledge he wouldn't hesitate to turn into the killer Meggie has taught him to be, and there's no doubt that he would protect the secret library under the Davenport Manor with his life.

He still wouldn't forgive me killing his uncle, though. Despite the fact that Meggie and I were working together he would even jump into an ocean of lava if she commanded him to, whereas he still gives me hostile looks when meeting me on the corridor. According to Meggie, he's just jealous, because, as she puts it, he's a person who needs to cling to someone else, someone mightier than himself, yet someone he at the same time seeks to possess. Recollecting their first meeting it seems paradoxical, yet he really makes the impression of seeing something like a parent in her, and despite being fully submissive he doesn't like to share her.

With this fixation on Meggie he is the opposite of our children Tsitshorón:kwe and Mary. I keep telling Meggie not to give them the same treatment she had experienced during her own childhood, and she actually seems to try, but the training is still hard. It's more than lecturing on how to use the different weapons one hour a day - it is rather part of their everyday lives. They have to stay alert every moment, for Meggie would attack them suddenly, when they least expect it, and she would treat them coldly for the rest of the day if they failed to defend themselves. Thus both - Tsitshorón:kwe as well as Mary - are not very close to her. They know she loves them, they saw her risking her life to protect them when the manor was attacked by robbers two years ago, they know she would take on all Templars all alone for them - they know it with their minds, but they don't seem to really _feel _it. More than anything else, they feel fear towards her, the fear of doing something wrong and getting punished. It is me who they come to with their worries.

At least Tsitshorón:kwe does. Mary less, for she doesn't like to talk in general. While Tsitshorón:kwe is a boy who seems to be in a good mood on principle, someone who loves to play pranks and steal sweets from the kitchen, train stealth by stealing and hiding my tomahawk and who is quite popular among those who know him, Mary has a cool and calm personality. She rarely shows her feelings, always thinking about something but never sharing her inner life with others. She spends the days climbing high spots and watching the people of the homestead in their everyday lives, quietly and motionlessly like a cat watching its would-be meal. Sometimes she would come down and sit next to someone doing his work and then, after watching him for about an hour, she would step closer and try it herself. There is no activity she is not interested in. Sometimes she can be found helping Lance building a chair, the next day she would join Ellen in sewing. She would work quietly and concentrated, and if anyone dared to interrupt her she would give him an angry stare. Tsitshorón:kwe, however, would rather prefer to explore the woods with his friend Alan, the son of Norris and Myriam, playing with their self-made bows and arrows and perfectly knowing that they aren't allowed to go into the forest alone. Everyone on the homestead keeps complaining about their mischief, but everyone loves them nonetheless. About Mary no one complains - except for her being "strange".

She doesn't like to play with other children. She says they're boring. She also calls her own brother stupid and boring. Instead, she prefers the company of those who are much older than her. She's seven, and her only friend is twelve. It's a bitter irony that it's no other than Richard Cross, the youngest son of Nathaniel. I keep my promise to support his family which isn't difficult to be done discreetly because of Meggie's friendship with Elizabeth Cross. We often meet their family, and so Mary and Richard have much time to spend together. They befriended when Mary was two, and at first Richard was obviously annoyed by the toddler following him everywhere around, but then he grew on her, being the first to teach her to read and explaining to her how the world functions. Nobody really understands how their friendship works with the gap in age, but somehow it does. They are very similar, actually, being both not very talkative - except with each other, spending hours talking, mostly Richie answering Mary's questions. Richie, just like Mary, doesn't get along with Tsitshorón:kwe. He doesn't get along with many people and is often said to be an arrogant know-all which are in fact the same accusations as towards Mary who indeed never misses an opportunity to show her intelligence. These are the rare occasions of her talking to others. She only says what she had thought about well which generally is not bad, yet she outwardly looks down on everyone who does otherwise which is the reason why she believes most people to be stupid. She still has to learn that there are different kinds of people, and that no one is better than someone else. But until then she has her friendship with Richie which often looks like a downright alliance of two outsiders against the rest of the world. They seem quite happy with it.

However, there is something very troubling about the young Richie: for he knows. Despite the Templars doing their best to erase Nathaniel from history he knows the truth about his father's death, that it was me who fought him - that it's me to wreak vengeance on. He doesn't even make a secret out of it. It was last year that he directly approached me, proclaiming that he knew the truth. He didn't tell me how he learned it, yet he hinted that he knows about the war between the Assassins and Templars. And the message that he planned to take revenge had been quite clear.

"Not for my father, though," he added. "I barely remember him. It's for the grief my mother suffers."

I nodded which seemed to be enough of an answer for him. He smiled, and everything appeared as if nothing had happened. He kept following me around just like he always does when he isn't with Mary. I doubt that he knew about me having fought his father when we first met. But just like Mary has started clinging to him at first sight he sticks to my heels ever since he knows me. He would watch me taking care of the trade business as well as polishing my munitions. Sometimes he would ask me to teach him how to use a tomahawk or a sword, and since he knows the truth he sometimes sneaks up to me when I'm alone and asks me questions about his father. There is something unspoken between the two of us, a dangerous and yet tender bond, and I don't dare to speculate to what end it will finally lead.

Having returned from Kentucky I knew that I would see him again soon as Tsitshorón:kwe and I rode through the homestead. When we reached the church, however, my thoughts took another direction, an even sadder one, but I wouldn't have forgiven myself averting my eyes from Edward's little grave. - Edward, our third child, named after Edward Kenway and Edward Collins, my and Meggie's grandfathers. He died of pox almost a year ago. I still remember his death as if it were yesterday, his little body covered with a thick crust of pustules and hot with fever, Meggie sleeping in a chair by his bed after having stayed awake for three days, his mouth moving weakly as he spoke to me, whispering that he knew he was going to die, silently crying with fear and begging me to carry him outside to watch the sunrise. All he wanted in his last hours was to live long enough to see the sun one more time.

"I want to be a warrior like you," he whispered. "If I must die I don't want to be defeated easily. I don't want death to take me without my permission."

And so he forbade death to come for him before the next day. He died in my arms early in the morning as we watched the sun casting its first rays at the Davenport Bay. He died with more dignity than many adults do, and he was only four. If there can be any consolation then it is that I am very proud of him.

Tsitshorón:kwe freed himself from my grip in embarrassment. Apparently, it had tightened when I recollected his brother's death. As much as Tsitshorón:kwe complains about Meggie's severity he nags me about being too soft. He would proclaim that he is not a little girl like "ugly Mary" and that the least thing he needs are caresses. Well, a few days later he would come to me crying because he watched a chicken being butchered, sobbing that he was never going to eat chicken again. - A promise he was definitely going to break the next time chicken was served. And yes, he dislikes his sister just as much as she dislikes him. Not only for being arrogant, but, most of all, for not starting screaming when he once put a huge spider on her shoulder. All Mary did was take the spider in her hands, pet it and name it Tsitshorón:kwe. When Tsitshorón:kwe punished her with a pouting look her expression remained motionless - except for her tongue slipping out between her lips which aroused even more anger in her brother.

When we finally arrived at the manor I noticed that Mary had climbed the roof again. She isn't allowed to do this, but if there is any similarity between her and her brother it is that both don't care much about rules. It's just no use to tell them over and over again. They would still do whatever they want. And they want to do everything they are taught, including climbing dangerously high and playing with knives. Meggie didn't start the training with wooden weapons, saying that she was glad her own mother got her used to real blades very early. So despite their tender age both are good climbers and very skilled at wielding actual weapons, and I admit it scares me sometimes to think that they really are little Assassins already. Tsitshorón:kwe has even killed a man during the robbery attempt two years ago. He didn't speak for about a week after that, but he had killed that man, and he would do it again. I know - I know what a life is awaiting them, and the greatest tragedy is that these little killers don't realize it themselves. They are going to be destroyed, and they will be forced to rebuild their worlds; they will seek answers, compromises, maybe even change their alliances. They will have the same lives as Meggie and I, and they will be all alone on their paths, because one can travel down this road only on one's own feet. It is painful to think about what they will be going through. But I know that Meggie and I will assist them as well as we can, even though we cannot walk their paths in their place.

And they will have the assistance of the Brotherhood and the Davenport Homestead. Both are growing and flourishing. During the past years not only Valley Meisser and Meggie's friend John Smith became first allies and then members, but also some younger inhabitants of the homestead joined our children's training. Alan, for example, who couldn't tolerate that his best friend learned things he didn't; also, the daughters of Dobby and Clipper who moved here after their wedding to have a quiet place to life and, at the same time, to protect the headquarters; Hunter, the son of Warren and Prudence, gets some training too - in general, after we had to protect some members of our community most inhabitants believe that there's nothing wrong with teaching the younger ones to defend themselves and the village. Over the years the Davenport Homestead has become remarkably militarized; Ariel even makes jokes that with places called New York and New Orleans on this continent we Assassins could with a clear conscience call the homestead New Masyaf. I can't decide whether I am proud or sad about this development.

As for Meggie and me - our relationship ... We never married. She becomes very reluctant at the very mention of such a possibility although she practically is nothing other than my wife. It seems like she is even scared of the word itself, falling silent for hours when hearing it. So I never speak of it. There's enough ground for argument between us already. She changed her views as much as she lives by the Creed now, and thanks to my experience with the outcome of the Revolutionary War and with Nathaniel I became much less idealistic, yet what we consider right and wrong still differs. Especially when it comes to education and the methods we use in our order. Meggie has an ample network of people in the most bigger cities, consisting of innocent civilians whom she once "helped" in order to make them dependent, expecting services in return which turned out to be very useful - but although she doesn't kill innocents, by involving them in our matters she endangers them, saves them and makes them even more dependent and unfree. I see something dark in it, something the Templars would do, something criminal like a state within the state. It gives us power, and this is what troubles me. Yet at the same time I realize that we need this network, for it provides us with precious information and enough influence to achieve our goals without much violence.

However, in the end, maybe I can still say that everything is all right. Nobody expected life to become perfect when I made my promise to Meggie. The more I live and see the more I doubt that a perfect world would be perfect. There is one thing Meggie said when she decided not to cry about Edward's death anymore: "Without unhappiness happiness would lose its value, wouldn't it? It would become normal, and we'd never know what precious gifts life provides us." Maybe this is indeed what everything truly is about - the Assassin Order, seeking justice, freedom ... Perhaps, what I am fighting for is not a better world, for by now I doubt it can be linked with a time and place. This world is cruel and violent, yet at the same time it is beautiful and filled with love, and probably we need both sides of it. This is the compromise of human life. To know justice we have first to know injustice. To know freedom we first need to be unfree. And, maybe, freedom is even nothing but the liberty to choose to be unfree - to "choose one's bonds" as Meggie puts it. For having friends, having a family ... In a way, it burdens me, it gives me worries and fears, making me feel selfish sometimes; it takes my freedom, but I give it away freely, and I am happy to do so. So maybe there is some truth in those words: The journey is the destination. Maybe the Assassin Order truly isn't about freeing the world from Templars, for they will always be. It is about fighting them for eternity.

It saddens me sometimes to think that we maybe aren't moving forward. That this war is never going to be won or lost. Yet, in her strange way of seeing things, Meggie told me something when I shared my thoughts with her today: "Cheer up, Conny. This only means your life will never get boring."

She has quite a talent for lighting up the atmosphere, and this may be what I like about her most. Talking to her often feels like entering another world where the rules of this one become irrelevant. So I smiled thankfully, and then asked her what she thinks about visiting my people whose new village I managed to find some years ago. It is in the north, and it takes some time to get there, but we visit it regularly, for I want Tsitshorón:kwe and Mary to stay in touch with this part of their roots. And for the coming year Meggie and I decided to visit it in spring.

After making this decision and having dinner Meggie approached me and whispered in my ear that she's going to "welcome me properly" tonight. Until then there's still much to do for both of us, so I have to wait a little. We haven't seen each other for three months, and I know what she means by "welcome me properly", especially when calling me Ratonhnhaké:ton. Yet I don't think this is something that should be written down in my father's journal. So I'm finishing this entry with hopes for future and that I can make Tsitshorón:kwe and Mary finally go to bed.

* * *

The end.

Omg. I did it. I finished it. And with perfect timing, I'd say. From the next week on I wouldn't have time for regular updates. So I'm glad I finished it, though I'll totally miss it.

As for the last chapter, I hope you liked it. Maybe I should mention that calling their son Tsitshorón:kwe was Meggie's idea while naming their daughter after the prominent Assassins Maria Thorpe and Mary Read was suggested by Connor. There are actually many behind-the-scenes stories I thought of while writing but never included in this fanfic. I have very precise ideas of how the family history developed ... Yet I think it's better to leave the future to the imagination of my dear readers.

If you have the time for this, I'd be glad if you could leave a comment and tell me how you liked this story as a whole. How was the plot? The language? How did you like the characters? The structure? The storytelling? What did you enjoy most and what least? Do you think Meggie is a good match for Connor? What do I have to improve in my writing? ...

And thank you so much for reading, faving and commenting! You're the best! I'm going to miss you. Yet who knows? Perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again. But until then ... Let's enjoy AC Unity and AC Rogue! The latter promises to have quite a view familiar faces in it, and as for Unity people say that Connor may have an appearance, but it's still only speculation. So I just keep hoping that he get's a sequel one day. And if he doesn't I have my very own version of what happened after AC III. ;)

Again, thanks for reading, and: Safety and peace, my dear friends!

With best regards,

Feael Silmarien


End file.
